Watching and Waiting
by Sealgirl
Summary: Ch 21 - "Unforced Error" - Venger sets in motion his final, most dangerous plan, and the Young Ones must face their worst nightmare. Rated for violence, language, sexual content
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: Characters from the cartoon series belong to someone else, but what happens to them is entirely my own doing.

STORY: A stand-alone story, with no continuity to worry about, but set a short time after the final episode that was aired: "The Cave of The Fairie Dragons". And since it is rated R, anything unsuitable will be posted at the appropriate place at adult ff.

RATING: R

THANKS: As always goes to the lovely people who are pleasant enough to review my stories. Writing is so much easier when you know people are enjoying it!

Special thanks for their help/encouragement/general super-ness, and in no particular order goes to: Fayzalmoonbeam, Rana Kane and Random Scribbles.

* * *

Watching And Waiting

- Prologue -

The walls of the Castle shook with his cries of anger.

How ridiculously incompetent those Orcs were! He should never have trusted them with such an important mission; he should never have let them anywhere near those accursed children; this was a fiasco of the highest order!

Four Orc Captains cowered on the floor in front of his throne, with the smouldering, smashed and crushed remains of three others close beside them.

'Fools!' Venger bellowed once again. 'You were suppose to bring me all the children, not just a single one!'

None of his servants ventured to reply this time. At least they had learned from their compatriots' fate. That was something.

'You!' he said, pointing to the closest Orc. 'Tell me again!'

The Orc looked round at the others, afraid. Perhaps it would blame them…

'Master, they expect us,' it replied. 'They knew we come for them!'

Their story hadn't changed, and the Arch-Mage was beginning to believe them. But he could hardly contain his anger, and had to fight the desire to crush this Orc's skull against the cold stone floor. But that could wait; he still wanted answers before they met with the proper punishment.

He slowly and deliberately turned to the huge Mirror behind him, looking at its frosted surface. He had seen the Young Ones, watched them as they prepared and knew their every move, and yet they had still managed to escape their fate. What had gone wrong?

They knew… 

A cold shudder passed through the Arch-Mage. If the Young Ones had truly known, that could only mean one thing: they had found the Seer. That was an unexpected twist of Fate, and must have been the Old Man's doing.

Venger could sense danger. The time was getting very close; he had only a single chance to succeed. A vast array of possibilities became available to him, but if only he could seize this wonderful opportunity; and the Seer's involvement made it more perilous. This was Venger's last chance to challenge the Old Man on his own terms, and he had already gone to far to turn back now.

He glanced at the cringing Orcs, the black anger simmering near the surface. They deserved their fate! They were mindless; they were stupid; they spent too much time thinking about their own coarse gratifications rather than his orders! A growl escaped his lips.

He should have sent the Drow instead.

He should call them now, before anything else went wrong!

_Yes, call the Drow. Call the Drow, now… _

The decision seemed to cool some of the anger and he turned to his slave, Shadow Demon, who had waited, half-hidden in the shadows behind the throne, as his Master's anger burned itself out.

'Find the Drow Leader, and bring her to me,' said Venger. 'Tell her…,' a small sneer flickered over his face at the thought of what was to come, 'tell her that I wish to make use of her services.'

As Shadow Demon bowed and departed, the Arch-Mage turned back to the Captains in front of him. They had managed to separate the Young Ones, it was true. And at least they hadn't returned empty-handed, one of his Enemies was in his power. He had to decide what the next move was, and a short wait alone in the dungeons would do his prisoner no harm; it might even work to his advantage.

Now, all he needed was a way to entertain himself until the Drow arrived.

He smiled.

And the four nervous Orcs all smiled back.

* * *


	2. Chapter 1 Fateful Choices

* * *

Part 1: Watching From the Shadows

* * *

Chapter 1

Fateful Choices

He awoke. He was lying on his back, with a throbbing pain in his head. It took him a few moments to understand where he was, and he opened his eyes a fraction to confirm what his other senses were telling him. Above, big dark shapes wafted in the light wind; trees. He was outdoors, free. There was an instant of elation and relief. Until he remembered.

… A magical explosion ripped past him, sending him to his knees. After a few seconds of disorientation, he struggled upright, flicking a glance over his shoulder. He couldn't see any of the others now; even Sheila and Eric had disappeared from sight. There was too much smoke and more Orcs were coming from the sides. It was all he could do to keep moving, carrying the girl in his arms. He could only hope for the best. The others, they would be ok…they had to be… they should be…

The rest was a blurred fragment. He'd struggled onwards still carrying the stricken girl, his wounds from the fight making any movement painful. Somehow, he'd kept going fast enough to outpace the Orcs, and found his way back to the Village.

A familiar voice spoke from beside him; far away, almost as if he imagined it. He hoped he hadn't; he really hoped he hadn't. He would hate to be alone, now of all times.

'Hank? You gonna be OK?' asked the voice.

The Ranger tried to focus, but could only see a pale blur.

'Hank?' This time he recognised the voice.

'B-Bobby?'

The blur moved forward. It was indeed the Barbarian, looking pale and very frightened. A terrible, sinking feeling passed through the Ranger as Bobby's expression told him everything he needed to know. _It had all gone wrong._

'Hank,' said Bobby once more. 'Sis, and the others. They didn't come back. Not even Uni.'

His four friends and the unicorn were missing, but he could only focus on Sheila, his beautiful Thief. Since the Darkling, the feelings they'd shared had grown, and barely a day had passed without them sharing a secret kiss.

He had to take a slow breath to steady himself. Bobby was her brother, and was as concerned as he was. The last time he'd see her, she was beside the Cavalier, his Shield held high against the blows of the Orcs. That was some comfort; it wasn't like Eric wouldn't look after her, of all people!

'Anything coulda happened,' said Bobby with a sniff. 'What are we gonna do?'

There was nothing to say that would help. Then the Barbarian started to cry. Hank could barely move, but he managed to reach out to touch the younger boy's shoulder.

'We'll find them, somehow. We'll find all of them.'

Bobby looked up, hopeful and trusting, making his skin crawl. He wished in vain that at least one of the others was here. This time, having to put a brave face on things for Bobby's sake was just making him feel worse. He longed to tell the Barbarian the truth: that they were well and truly fucked this time.

'What happened, Hank? D'you know?'

His eyes flickered shut. _I don't think I want to remember…_

'I'm not sure, Bobby. I don't remember much.'

It was all out of focus. He could only remember images and snippets of conversation, but he clamped down on the memories, and opened his eyes once more to look up at the Barbarian.

'They'll be ok,' he said, hoping he sounded more convincing to a ten-year-old boy than he did to himself. As the Ranger pushed himself upright, hoping that the world would stay still, there was the sound of footsteps to the right.

It was the Village Chief.

This was the last person he wanted to see, how was he going to face the man, after what'd happened?

He'd failed everybody this time. These people had lived in the vile darkness of Venger's shadow. Their village decimated, their hope gone; these were not people who gave their trust lightly. _And I couldn't even keep a small promise…_

The look on the Chief's face confirmed what Hank already suspected, but something made him ask anyway, just to be sure.

'Your daughter?'

The man looked back with empty eyes.

'She is dead.'

It was confirmation of his failure. Hank had to turn away. He had found her where the Seer had said she would be, but cold and still. He'd picked her up in his arms, and carried her past the Orcs, and past all the fighting, and past all his friends. He'd believed she could be brought back, and risked everything and everyone, on that assumption. He'd done all he could, and it still wasn't enough.

'I'm so sorry.'

His response was so empty, and so false. But he couldn't think of anything else to say. He'd promised to save her from the Orcs, no matter what, and now she was dead. The Chief didn't respond. He stood a short distance away, unable to speak, and finally, he just turned away, back to his brethren.

Minutes passed in silence, before the Barbarian asked:

'What are we gonna do now, Hank?'

Close by, cries of lamentation started, softly at first, but they grew in volume, until they echoed over the hills. The Daughter of the Chief; their light and their hope, was dead and the noise was enough to make tears start in the Ranger's eyes.

What are we gonna do now? 

He didn't know.

* * *

There were no more Orcs left to torture. 

The screams had finally stopped, and Venger leaned back in his throne to survey the devastation his anger had wrought. He would have to find someone to clear up the remains.

There was nothing to amuse him while he waited, so he turned and gazed at the blank surface of the Mirror.

Very, very few in this Realm could withstand its seductive allure; even he, the Great Arch-Mage, imbued with the power of his evil master, had to struggle to keep control. Little wonder the Old Man had hidden it.

But now, it was his, and with it the balance of power in the Realm would inevitably have to shift. For whoever mastered the Mirror could be Master of all.

The stench of charred Orc still hung in the air, a reminder that the Mirror was not yet subjugated to his will. If it had been, he would have known about the Seer and the tricks she used to coerce those foolish Young Ones into doing battle with his Orcs. He would have been better prepared.

'Master.'

The sibilant hiss of his Shadow-Slave broke though his musings. It hung low by the floor, as close as to got to kneeling in supplication.

'Master, the Drow have hastened to your summons. They are here.'

They had been quick; quicker than he'd anticipated. His summons must have been expected and they must be eager to help.

'Bring them!'

Within moments there were soft footfall behind him, and the Arch-Mage rose to face his new acolytes.

There were five if them, which pleased Venger. Their skin was as black as his Master's heart, offset by the pure whiteness of their hair. Each wore heavy, black furs above black and silver armour and the glint of narrow-bladed daggers could be seen in their belts.

The High Priestess stood at the front, flanked her two female assistants. Behind them stood two guards, each with bows strapped across their backs.

'Kneel,' he demanded.

The Priestess hesitated, for the Drow were a proud race, but he would tolerate nothing but complete service. The promise of reward must be great to lure these Dark Elves out of their underground lair, to kneel before a new master.

The four others followed her example.

'We have come as you commanded, Master.' Expressionless, she looked round at the remains of the Orc Captains. 'For we believe you will succeed.'

He gestured to the Weapon of Power sitting on the dais beside him. The Priestess did not hide her surprise.

'But it was to be the Ranger.'

Venger's lip twitched, but he refrained from lashing out a rebuke.

Yes, that was what he'd wanted. He had taken such delight in planning how he'd make that Ranger crawl on his knees and beg for release. Even now, impotent anger flared; _it should have been the Ranger._

But he still had one of them in the dungeons, and thanks to the Ranger's error in judgement, the others were scattered. It would take time for them to regroup and, by then, it would be too late.

He rose.

'Let us begin the preparations.'

* * *


	3. Chapter 2 Altered Images

Chapter 2

Altered Images

'Shouldn't we keep going?' Bobby said to Hank.

Since leaving the village, all the Barbarian had done was walk and ask unanswerable questions.

The rain was still driving down and water poured down the hillside, making the rocks slippery and the grass muddy. Huddled together under a small tree, all they could do was wait until the storm had passed.

But they were fast running out of choices. It had already been two days since they'd left the Village, and they had seen no sign the others. They had gone back to the Orc encampment, in the hope of finding some trace. There was only one other way out, and they followed the path out towards the grassland, and the forest far beyond.

Then the rain had started, and come down in thick waves of water, drenching everything within minutes. They'd continued through the rain for a few more hours then taken shelter. He'd known full well that the rain would wash away any sign of the others, but chose not to tell that to Bobby.

'Shouldn't we keep going, Hank?' repeated the Barbarian.

'We will. Once the rain has stopped.'

Bobby made no reply, silent with impotent anger. If it had been one of the others he would have discussed their options, but the Barbarian needed simple instruction and confident answers. Any hint that Sheila or the unicorn was in mortal danger, and he would go rampaging off, on his own if need be, his Club at the ready.

Hank couldn't let him do that. Keeping control of Bobby was the first step to successfully regrouping.

And while they waited, their friends became more lost. This was just one more delay.

Was there no hope?

'Greetings, young Pupils.'

There was a flash of relief, as brief as a blink, as he turned to see the Dungeonmaster standing in the rain just behind them.

Every time before, he'd trusted their Guide; trusted that he knew what was going on, even if he had no power to stop it. But there was something different now. Hank knew it even before the old man spoke.

'Greetings, young Pupils,' he said again.

The Barbarian looked up, anticipation brimming in his expression.

'Dungeonmaster! Are we glad to see you! Where are the others? Are they safe?'

The old man didn't reply, but an expression passed over his face that Hank had rarely seen; it was a hard, conniving look that seemed totally alien to the kind man they all knew.

'What's going on?' demanded Hank.

Only Bobby seemed shocked by his tone.

'I do not know,' said Dungeonmaster.

It was not the answer Hank had expected. The old man had never admitted a weakness before.

'There are a great number of powers in this Realm,' said their Guide. 'And there are some against which even my magic must fail.' There was a pause, as the old man struggled to find the right words. Finally, he lifted his hands, a cloudy orb of magic forming. 'My magic has been disrupted and I cannot now see the Realm I tend.'

There was an edge of bitterness in his voice that Hank didn't like.

'Do you know what's happened?' he said.

'Someone is using the Fourth Mirror of Nynad.' The old man spat the name out as if it burned his mouth just to say it.

'A Mirror?' said the Barbarian. 'What can it do?'

'It can do a great deal, young Barbarian. Once, a very great time ago, there was one who had tried and failed many times to gain power, using up the goodwill of his fellows and the loyalty of his acolytes as he went. But the failure of his efforts only made him desire dominion more. To that end, he created five potent Mirrors with the power to see into past and future and present. Each one was designed with a specific purpose in mind: to control and corrupt the Realm it viewed.'

'What happened to them?' said Bobby.

'Three of the Mirrors were destroyed, by accident or malice, and only two remain. One has been lost for centuries, and the other, I found. And I hid it.'

'You hid it? Why didn't you just destroy it? Or take the bad magic out?'

'No, Barbarian. These Mirrors are the tools of Evil, but they have the power and magic controlled within them. Destroying it could only bring harm to the Realm. Very few things can affect the power of a Mirror. My magic is not one of them.'

The Ranger had listened to Dungeonmaster's tale with a growing sense of dread. The old man was burdening them with information this time, as if in need of someone to listen to him. And there were no riddles.

They had faced many things in this Realm, but always they had the aid of their Guide. Now that had changed, and whoever had this Mirror had a great advantage over them.

'Who's using it?' said Hank, though he feared he already knew the answer.

'I do not know for certain,' Dungeonmaster replied. 'But I suspect Venger; for the shadow of the Mirror rests on you all. You are masked from my sight, all of you.'

The Dungeonmaster did not continue, but looked out across the sodden grasslands towards the distant trees.

'You don't even know if they're alright?' said Bobby. Their Guide shook his head.

'But how did you find us?' said Hank.

Dungeonmaster turned to look the Ranger in the eye.

'I searched. I went to the Village and spoke with the Chief.'

Sickness welled up inside Hank at the words. He'd carried that poor, lifeless girl back to her family, just for them to see what was failure looked like.

'There is no time to dwell on the past, Ranger,' said Dungeonmaster. 'To use the Mirror is a test of strength, only one of great individual power would be able to control what it shows them. But the more the Mirror is used, the more it affects the user. It corrupts them; infusing them with the dark and violent essence of its maker. If it is truly Venger who wields the Mirror, then you must find the others, before it is too late.'

'Will they die?' asked Bobby, his lip starting to tremble.

'No. Something much worse.'

It was obvious that the Barbarian didn't understand, but the young boy was never going to admit it. But Hank knew; he knew from the way Dungeonmaster was glaring at him. Responsibility weighed down across his shoulders once more, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to draw up the strength of mind and spirit to carry on in spite of what had gone before.

It came as no surprise to find that, when he opened his eyes, the Dungeonmaster was gone.

* * *

They'd been running; and there was no way to know how far the two of them had travelled in the days since the fight. The pursuing Orcs had lost them in the forest, but they were now lost themselves. At the time, they'd had no choice but to keep going, but Sheila the Thief was regretting her decision to venture inside this dark, treacherous place.

So far, keeping them both going had taken all her attention. But now, as her injured companion rested against a tree, she let the full impact of the situation sink in.

They were lost. They had no food, nor water, and nothing to ease the pain of her friend. She'd staunched the blood as best she could, but it wasn't good enough.

She had to find the others. Hank would know what to do.

_Hank… _Just the thought of his name lifted her heart.

The last time she'd seen him he'd scooped up the young girl from the ground, and was waiting for them to follow him out of the Orc camp. Then there had been a shout for help from Presto. Both she and the Cavalier had responded, knowing the Ranger had his hands full.

But the Orcs were too strong; Diana and Eric tried to hold them back while Presto worked his Hat, but it all went wrong. Even the Magician's last, desperate spell had failed; and now she was here, effectively alone.

And they would not survive long alone.

With a glance to her unconscious companion, she knew she had to go now, before it was too late. Cold, creeping certainty filled her. If she delayed, her friend would die. But how would she ever find her way back here, even if she did find someone to help?

_Hank_… she needed her Ranger.

To despair was not in her nature, but there were no other options: she had leave.

'I'll come back with help,' Sheila whispered as she stood. 'I'll be as quick as I can, Diana.'

* * *

Venger had waited with a growing sense of confidence; the Mirror became more cooperative every time he used it to watch the remaining children. Apart from proving to be most enjoyable, events were moving quickly and the moment he was waiting for would soon be here; and the prisoner must be ready to witness it.

The boy had been left in the coldest and most unpleasant cell the Orcs could find, and left to wait in the darkness. Fear would be growing in the boy, but Venger knew simple brute force would not be sufficient; he would have to be much more cunning to achieve his dark ends.

And he would have to be very careful. There were still risks, even with the foresight of the Mirror at his disposal. Over time, he would learn to control the Mirror fully, but at the moment he could not see all that he'd wished to. There was also problem of that two-faced Seer; he need to know what she was planning as he might be able to use her schemes to his own advantage. But his first priority was ensuring the prisoner was ready.

Now, as he entered the dungeon for the first time, with the Drow Priestess at his side, he stared at his young enemy, letting the anger build.

He had wanted this to be the Ranger. He'd wanted this to be the Ranger, so very much. He'd wanted to make that Ranger suffer, to make him crawl on his kneels and beg for mercy. Desire grew; desire to hurt the Ranger, desire to corrupt the Ranger and the desire to see the Ranger on his knees, begging for the scraps of Venger's attentions.

The Ranger was the one he hated, and that hatred grew more potent with every passing moment of every passing day.

The prisoner was curled up in a corner, almost naked, his body covered in long, deliberate scratches, shallow to maximise the discomfort and the loss of blood. The Drow had also ensured that he'd had no food and only minimal water.

Looking down, he knew in his heart that this one was not going to cause him any trouble. His courage had come from his friends; and after only a few days, he was beginning to weaken.

The boy looked up, and for a moment Venger thought he would speak. Then the boy looked away, and Venger had what he'd come down to the dungeon for: he knew he would win.

The preparations were finished; the magic was ready, as were the Drow. All he had to do now was await the right moment to strike, and the boy would be his.

And when the boy was his, the weapons would follow, and he could finally make the Ranger pay for his arrogance.

With that thought lingering in his mind, Venger smiled and turned away.

* * *


	4. Chapter 3 Contrived Convergence

Chapter 3

Contrived Convergence

He drifted slowly back into consciousness, lying, curled up on his side. In the few moments it took him to understand, he opened his eyes a fraction trying to think what had happened, and where he was. There was an instant of calm and serenity.

Until he remembered.

_The Dungeons._

He was still alone in Venger's Dungeons.

Shivering, he tried to curl up more tightly, to keep the minimal heat he had. How long had he been here? The days and nights had merged into once grey dream after the Orcs had left him here and he had no idea how much time had passed. He'd taken the water they'd left for him, and stayed as still as possible.

During all this time, he had only seen the Arch-Mage once, and then for only an instant. But the smug look on Venger's face haunted him; he didn't need the gift of foresight to know that there was something big brewing and that the Arch-Mage was a the centre of it.

Once again, he thought of the others; where were all his friends? Shouldn't they have come to help by now? Where were Hank and the others? What had happened to them? Anything could have happened. Anything. But he didn't panic; if Venger had wanted him dead, he would have done it by now. Venger was playing some other game with them all this time.

There was a noise at the door. It was the Drow again. This time, they had no water with them, and he knew it was time. He was going to find out what was planned for him, whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

In spite of the rainstorm, the Ranger and the Barbarian had struggled on towards the eaves of the forest. While they had seen no sign of any of their friends, they had seen Orc marks; a sure sign that someone they knew was ahead!

They were coming close to the edge, flanked by a raging river, swollen by the recent rain into a torrent that seemed impossible to cross. The dark forest on the opposite side seemed to stretch for miles either way and Hank was struck by the hopelessness of it all. The Orc tracks they'd found suggested they'd crossed the river while it was low and gone into the forest, but if there was anyone in there, there was almost no hope that they would be found. Not in something that big.

They sat and waited for a while beside the river, eating some berries and having some of the cool, refreshing water. They didn't speak as they sat there, both were too exhausted.

Hank reached to the Bow by his side, pulled a golden arrow and let it loose into the sky. It hung there like a miniature sun, spreading the soft golden rays over the countryside and banishing the dusk for a few minutes. Then it faded slowly and fell back, disappearing into the dim light.

He had been sending signal arrows up every so often for most of the past day, in the vague hope that his friends might see it and come to find them. So far, there had been no response. While it would be difficult to send a signal with either the Shield or the Cloak, Presto and Diana would surely be able to signal back with their weapons. _If they were able to…_

That thought hung there in the back of his mind. It had been almost a day since they'd seen the Dungeonmaster, and they were no further forward in finding any of their friends. Hank felt sick to his stomach, he couldn't keep this going for very much longer. They'd struggled on, they'd gone as far as they physically could, but they were still alone.

And all the time was the growing sense that someone was watching them.

It started off as a subtle feeling, but it had grown stronger with every passing step, and as they waited by the river, he could almost feel whoever it was standing there with him.

Venger… it must be Venger… 

Dungeonmaster's warning had started to pray on his mind; the old man was very worried. And if he'd been worried, then that wasn't good news for any of them.

He glanced suddenly up at the little boy sitting close by, gently tapping the ground with his Club.

As if feeling his gaze, Bobby murmured:

'I miss my sister.'

'I know.'

'I miss Uni, too.'

'I know. We'll find them, Bobby.'

He wasn't lying, exactly. But he couldn't, in all conscience, believe he was telling the truth. The Barbarian was still willing to believe him; but as time went on and they got no further forward, even his trust was showing signs of weakening. What were they going to do next?

'Do you think they saw it?' asked Bobby suddenly.

The innocence of the question suddenly seemed unreasonable. It wasn't the first time he'd asked it; it wasn't even the most annoying question of their journey. But it was just too much this time.

'For fuck's sake, Bobby! I don't know, alright!'

There was shock on he Barbarian's face, but also a hint of relief. He'd always hated being treated like a baby. They glared at each other, but Bobby looked away first. Hank felt terrible for taking his frustration out of the boy, but the outburst seemed to clear the air between them. And the Barbarian stopped asking stupid, annoying and childish questions.

'Hank?' said the Barbarian at last, his tone much more serious than before. 'If Venger has this Mirror, how are we going to stop him?'

That was a good question. That was the question that was burning at the back of his mind. Dungeonmaster hadn't given them any help at all with that. _And how are we even gonna find him?_

'I don't know that either, Bobby.'

'Oh.'

How had they gotten themselves into this? How had he let this happen? Nothing could stop the memories, and the regret. He had known this was a trap; they all had known. The others had agreed, with varying levels of reluctance; only Eric had voiced any real objections.

It was easy to wish for things to be different. If he had known, he would have been more careful with their recognisance, he would have been fastest and stayed closer to Sheila and the others. He'd put the lure of home before the safety of his friends.

He had never felt more like crying. Inside was a furious sense of urgency, but there was nothing they could do. They had no idea where to look next.

His eyes closed against the growing number of choices. He thought about the Thief, knowing she could be anywhere, he imagined he could hear her voice amid the rumble of the waters; she was calling out his name.

There it was again, that feeling that there was someone else there. Paranoia, perhaps, but sometimes he could almost feel them reaching out to touch him. He shuddered, and his eyes opened.

_No. This time there is something. _

His instinct made him turn and look up.

* * *

She woke with a start. How long had she slept? It was already dark under the eaves of the forest, she must have slept for a few hours, in spite of the damp and the cold. Nearby, the low howl of the prowling predators made her grateful for her Cloak; she tried not to think about the defenceless Diana she had left behind. Anything could have happened. She had to get this done as fast as she could. She had to get back to help the Acrobat as fast as she could.

Disorientated from the sleep, she looked around, surprised that she'd made it down to the river. That afternoon, she'd stopped, unsure about what to do next: up river, back towards the Orc encampment, or downriver, towards civilisation, and probably a bridge. She didn't have much hope of crossing it here; the current raised curls of white water. But instead of resting, she'd fallen asleep.

She though back guiltily to her injured friend. She shouldn't have slept at all, let alone for a few hours. Diana needed help; now! She had to get up and get moving, now! it didn't matter how she was feeling, she had to go.

Just as she was pulling herself up searing bright light cut through the sky on the opposite side. A ball of flame hung in the sky for a long number of seconds, and she stared, open-mouthed at it.

It was a signal arrow. It was a signal from Hank.

He was here; she could just make out his green-clad figure sitting near the water on the other side.

She screamed his name, but waited fruitlessly for an answer against the heavy roar of water. Finally, something was going right, but he couldn't hear her. She tore at her Cloak, waving frantically, but he didn't turn.

_Why didn't he see her!_

She ran out into the river, still waving and screaming, but there was no reaction. Tears started to run down her face. She needed him, she could see him, but he didn't move. Why didn't he turn and see her!

She waded deeper into the freezing cold river, almost up to her waist having to lean into the current to stay upright. But as she waved, there was a movement in the sky above her, a gleam of dull red against a dark grey background. She looked up.

_It couldn't be! No! It couldn't! Oh, God, not one of those…!_

'Hank!' she screamed, waving frantically. 'HANK!'

The current weakened for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make her lose her balance.

The river took her, and pulled her down.

* * *

They were in place. It was all ready for the final act.

It sickened him to feign compassion, but the boy had to believe; he had to make the choice freely or the magic wouldn't work. And the only way to do that was to play on the one thing he truly cared about; the thing he cared about even more than leaving this world. _His friends_.

It was the only way.

The Arch-mage turned to the Drow by his side.

'Bring him,' he told her. 'Bring the Magician to me. Now.'

* * *


	5. Chapter 4 Future Impossible

Future Impossible

The Arch-Mage was waiting as Presto entered the chamber. Flanked by the faithful Drow servants, he was sitting on a high-backed throne, casually leaning on the curved sidearm, his eyes glowing with a malevolent delight.

Half-dressed, cold and afraid though he was, something inside the Magician was strong enough not to panic; for panic was what Venger obviously wanted him to do. Fighting to breathe, he forced himself to look his captor in the face.

The Arch-Mage watched with a slight, odd-looking smile as Presto was brought before him and force to kneel at his feet. Then he gave a slight bow.

'Greeting, young Magician.'

Presto didn't reply, and one of the Drow guards stepped forward, as if to strike. With a flick of his hand, Venger stopped him.

'Leave us,' he said.

Presto didn't know whether to be pleased or not; being alone with Venger, at any time, was not something he enjoyed. But he saw the Drow bow, and fade away into the shadows. Only then did the Arch-Mage look back down at him.

Still on his knees, Presto stared back, quaking inside. _Why didn't Venger just get on with it, whatever it was?_ The Magician had been alone with the Arch-Mage before; but this time he seemed different; more evil, if that was possible. Just being in the same room as him this time made Presto's skin crawl.

Eventually, the Arch-Mage rose from the throne and walked over to one of the walls of his throne room, towards a large object, covered in a black drape. Without looking at it, Venger pulled the material off, letting it fall to the ground with a soft swish. Behind the drape was a Mirror.

It was large, nearly twice the height of Presto himself, and had an ornate ebony frame, depicting gargoyles and demons and other figures doing… Presto wasn't close enough to be sure of what they were doing, but it looked horrible. The surface of the Mirror, while reflective, was covered in a thin dusting of frost, as if it had been left in a freezer. It stood free of the wall, on a heavy stand, and was tipped back slightly so Presto couldn't see his own reflection. Even when he stood, he still couldn't make out anything on the surface.

Venger stood to one side, with an ugly half-smile on his face. It was an expression he'd never seen Venger us before. It was malicious and cold and utterly unforgiving.

'Do you know what this is?' Venger said after a long pause.

'A mirror?'

'Not just any mirror, my young Magician. This is one of the Great Mirrors. This is the Fourth Mirror of Nynad.'

'Who's he?'

Again, a smile slid across Venger's face.

'I do not expect the Dungeonmaster told you of him. He was a wizard, a very powerful one; but he was arrogant and foolish, and careless. Though he persevered through adversity, his legacy is only this Mirror; one of five that were made to see into the Realm's past, present… and future.'

'It can see into the future?' asked Presto, intrigued in spite of himself. 'It can show what will happen?'

Venger shook his head, very slowly.

'It can show what might happen. For there are no absolutes in Time.'

Presto was on the verge of mentioning the Crystal of Kronos, but that didn't seem wise, in the present circumstances. Besides, intrigued or not, the Magician knew enough of the Arch-Mage to still be afraid.

Silently they waited again; Venger watching him. Presto's mind was suddenly racing with the possibilities of such powerful magic. He could find out where the others were, if his spell had worked and if they were safe.

His breaths grew more shallow. Then he could find out if they all got home. _He could find out if they all got home._

Home! 

He stared at the Mirror, intoxicated with irrational hope and the desire to know. This Mirror would tell him what happens next; it would show him how they got home. He would be able to keep going, knowing that; even if it took years, he would still know. He could still keep his hope up.

'If you wished, you may look,' said Venger.

But that was a bad idea. That Mirror was evil.

He knew it was a very, very bad idea.

Venger wanted him to look; Presto could sense that this is what it was all about, this single moment. But there was an ache inside that wouldn't go away; he couldn't turn down the chance. He should, but he couldn't. The dark, gleaming surface of the Mirror could tell him what he desperately wanted to know.

This is a bad idea; but still... 

'I,' he mumbled. 'I, would like, to know.'

God, he wanted to know. He needed to know they were safe. He needed to know if they ever got home.

Venger's expression didn't flicker, there was that same, skewed smile as before. He took a step back into the shadows, away from the Mirror and lifted his hand, leaving the way clear for Presto to move forward and look.

The ache inside grew stronger; he had to know what had happened to the others. He had to find out. He looked at the Mirror's cold surface, and the ache grew stronger still.

_He had to look._

He stepped forward, right up to the stand.

At first, all he could see was his own reflection; thin, cold and humiliatingly naked. He looked himself in the eye, knowing this to be wrong, but unable to stop. Seconds passed, and slowly his image faded. The thin veil of dust seemed to fade too, and he was looking into the dark as if there was nothing else in existence.

At first the flashes were of his home, his real home back on Earth; images of school and his parents, and the things he'd done.

There was a yearning, wistful feel to the images, for this was the past; and they were blurred and out-of-focus. Days changed, he moved to a new school and found new friends. And then suddenly it was that day; the day the amusement park opened.

The images took on more definition, the colours grew stronger; and Presto watched in angry impotence as the six friends made their way round the park, slowly and inexorably towards the new Dungeons and Dragons Ride.

He wanted to shout out a warning, but the words stuck in his throat. He watched them join the queue; he watched them stand and wait, laughing and watching the other people come out safely. He watched them move closer; ever closer.

Then it was their turn and the ride car moved off.

One moment they were on the ride, the next they were running for their lives from Tiamat, their new weapons in their hands; such was their abrupt arrival in the Realm.

Then the images skipped lightly onwards, never focusing on one thing for too long. But they were always powerful moments; spelling his friends to the Giant's Castle, returning to the Realm after the Bogbeast-Eric, facing Hank as he fired the signal arrow from the Cloud-bears treetop home, and then Varla,the beautiful Illusionist was in his arms; he should have kissed her when he had the chance…

The image changed.

This time, all his friends were there and he recognised the situation. This was at the Orc encampment, during their most recent run in with the Orcs.

Hank had picked up the unconscious girl, the Chief's daughter, and started back out of the camp, with Bobby following close behind. Sheila had pulled up her Cloak, but Presto knew she was following the Cavalier back to help him and Diana as they struggled with the rearguard.

_No, I don't want to see this._

For a few seconds, the four of them had fought well. Then there was a piercing scream. Presto could hear it now as then; a cry of such terrible pain that it made him feel sick all over again.

In the Mirror, beside the now-visible Thief, Diana stumbled to the ground.

Each one of the three friends turned to look, and Eric lowered his guard in shock. Then the Orc came, its sword flashing bright white against the dark ranks of its comrades. The Shield defected the main force of the blow, but Eric staggered under the power of the attack and lost his balance. The Orc moved in to finish him off.

Presto held his breath, afraid for his friend even though he knew what happened next.

There was another flash of white, as Uni ran forward and jabbed the attacking Orc with her horn, as hard as she could. It only distracted him for a second at most, but it was just enough for Eric to recover, and raise the Shield once more, and Uni covered beneath it, trying to hide from the enraged Orc she'd attacked.

The Cavalier looked up, his expression one of pain and fear.

'For God's sake, get us outta here, Presto! Now!'

The words were clear to him again, he could hear the desperation in the Cavalier's voice.

Then it was the spell. Not the best spell he'd ever tried, but it was the best he could come up with. He'd said the words, and closed his eyes and hoped.

There was a deafening boom, and a huge cloud of dust billowed up around them. In the Mirror, he now saw Sheila pull Diana to her feet and stagger off through the mass of blinded Orcs. But they were disorientated, and went the wrong way out towards the grasslands, not the Village.

And as the dust settled, he saw himself, lying motionless on the ground. But there was no sign of either Uni or the Cavalier.

The Mirror faded to black once more.

The Magician took an anxious step forward, almost unable to keep himself upright he felt to light-headed. He had to know what happened next. He could hardly breathe. He reached out.

'No!' said a voice from beside him: Venger. 'Do not touch it!'

Presto blinked, and swayed, the confusion and fear making it difficult for him to keep breathing.

'What happened?' he gasped. 'I have to know. Where are they?'

'Did you not see?'

'That was the past,' he said desperately. 'The past, not now, not the future.'

'You wish to see more?'

'I have to know where they are,' he said, pleading with his captor, hoping for some glimmer or compassion.

There it was; that smile again. The smile that made him feel sick through his soul and cold to his heart. It was a smile of pure evil mixed with pure triumph. He shuddered.

'You have to concentrate on them,' said the Arch-Mage, the corner of his mouth twitching. 'And you have to ask. Ask nicely!'

Presto turned back to look into the deep surface of the Mirror.

'Show me my friends. Where they are now.'

Nothing.

'Please show me! Show me Hank!'

The Ranger… _Hank will be ok… he'll probably be on is way to find… _

The Mirror changed abruptly, the surface melting from black to grey; the grey of approaching dusk.

Hank and Bobby were there, soaked and cold, waiting beside a fast-flowing river. Hank was looking across the grassland, an expression on despair over his handsome face.

'Hank…' murmured Presto, reaching his hand out towards the Mirror, so close he could almost be reaching out to touch him on the shoulder.

Suddenly, the Ranger stiffened, and turned abruptly, bringing the Bow round too and nocking an arrow. Then there was a shattering screech from behind them; a sound that Presto recognised as the call of a Red Dragon.

Hank turned pale as he loosed a volley of arrows. The screech grew louder.

Then there was another cry from the behind them. There was another one, hovering in the air, it's talons ready to strike.

'NO!' gasped Presto.

The Mirror flicked out.

'NO! It can't be! NO!'

He didn't know if he said it out loud. _No, Not Hank. It couldn't…_

His breath was coming in short painful gulps. He turned to Venger.

'That's not true, that can't…' He had to stop. He couldn't get the rest of the sentence out.

But the Arch-Mage was nodding very slowly.

'This is happening. It is happening as we speak. They are seconds away from destruction.'

NO! 

'The Mirror does not lie.'

NO! It wasn't true! 

Venger's face was impassive this time.

'What about the others,' he asked desperately. 'Eric, Sheila, Diana. Perhaps they can help…'

The Mirror darkened once more as he said their names. He saw Sheila and Diana moving across the grasslands trying to outrun the Orcs, the Acrobat fading with every step and the Thief getting weaker too. They disappeared together into the forest, and the Orcs soon gave up. But the girls were obviously lost.

The trees grew thicker, and finally Diana couldn't go any further, and she slumped down against a tree. Beside her, Sheila waited, watching over her friend as best she could, but it was obvious what she was thinking.

Sure enough, she pushed herself up, and headed off to find help.

Presto watched with growing horror as Sheila kept herself going through the forest, getting more lost and most disheartened with every step. Then she stopped by the river, unable to stand, and slipped into a dark, exhausted sleep.

The scene changed; Sheila was still beside the river, but awake, and it was dark. She had seen something. She had seen Hank on the other side.

Presto's heart leaped, and for a second hope filled him. Then he saw Sheila run forward into the swollen river. But Hank didn't see her

The Magician watched her wave and shout with a growing urgency. Then she stopped and looked up at the dull red gleam in the sky. There was the screech of the dragons.

_NO! Not her too. Please no…_

Recoiling from the Mirror, Presto closed his eyes.

Eric! Where was Eric! He could help them! 

His head snapped round.

'Where's Eric?'

The Mirror's surface didn't change. Smooth darkness was all he could see.

'Eric?' he said, his voice starting to shake. 'Where is he! Show me!'

There was no change, and the Magician was forced to look at Venger for an explanation. But the look of Venger's face held no comfort.

'Where's Eric?' asked Presto, beyond caring that he was pleading with his enemy. 'Please tell me he's ok.'

This time, the expression was one of slight confusion, tinged with anger, and Venger replied:

'I do not know. But the Mirror does not lie.'

Presto looked back to the cold Mirror surface. There was nothing to show. There was nothing to show, because…

NO! 

There was nothing to show, because he wasn't there to be shown.

NO! 

Presto looked back at Venger, and read in that blank expression confirmation of his greatest fear.

'He's dead, isn't he?' The Magician's voice was choked with raw emotion. 'Oh, God, he's dead already.'

'The Mirror will show what it is ask, but I have not seen the Cavalier. I know nothing of his fate.'

_It won't show it, because it can't._

'Oh, God, he's dead.'

Unable to do anything but stare at the floor, he couldn't believe it, yet there was no other explanation. Presto didn't move as time ticked on; he hardly even breathed.

… _dead._

Suddenly, he was filled with the need to know.

'Show me what happened!' The Mirror still didn't change. 'SHOW ME!'

Face with the implacable black of the Mirror, Presto raised his fist to strike at the surface. His wrist was caught by the Arch-Mage, who held it fast in an ice-cold grip. He didn't let go, though Presto tried to pull away.

'Magician, there are still your other friends.'

The others were alive! But not for long. Presto looked up to glare in fury at his captor. 

'It is happening as we speak,' said Venger.

'Why are you showing me this? Why do I have to watch them d-'

He choked on the last word.

'It was your choice, Magician. You chose to look.'

And how he wished he hadn't. But the lure of knowledge had been too much. Venger had known it would be. He'd been so dumb, so easy to manipulate. It was just what Venger had wanted.

'They are not gone yet, Magician. There is still time. Just.'

'But I can't do anything!' he shouted at the Arch-Mage. 'I can't help them!'

There was the smallest of pauses, and Presto knew what Venger was going to say next. He'd walked straight into it…

'But I can help them.'

Still held fast by the Arch-Mage, they looked each other eye to eye; and Presto knew he had no choice. He'd looked, and he'd seen what was happening. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing; no matter what the cost.

_No matter what the cost: And it is going to be high, Presto. Very, very high._

He'd walked into the trap; and such a clever trap it was. He had no other choice.

Weakly, the Magician nodded his acceptance.

'Help, them. Please.'

Venger slowly released his grip on Presto's wrist.

'I will expect something in return, Magician. Are you sure?'

He had to nod again. He couldn't see any other way out. Venger had won.

'If you're sure…'

'How do I know, how can I trust you?' Presto said suddenly. 'You've lied before.'

Much to his surprise, the Arch-Mage laughed.

'You have grown, young man,' said Venger. 'You understand better this time. So I will vow, before my Master, that I let no harm come to those you see before you.'

With that, a sick, sinking feeling lurched through him. He'd done it. He was Venger's willing slave now. He was the traitor. He lurched back form the Mirror, unwilling to look in case he saw his own treacherous reflection.

A swish of black clothing rouse him from staring at the floor. Venger was now watching the Mirror, reaching out into it. Beside him, two of the Drow was standing, waiting for orders.

'Return him to his cell,' said Venger, not turning round. 'Return his robes, and feed him.'

The Drow pulled him upright, through he could hardly keep his legs from buckling. _He was the traitor now. What was he going to do?How oculd he do this to the others, to himself?_

Everything was growing darker, everything was growing faint.He only got as far as the throne room door, before he passed out.

* * *


	6. Chapter 5 Slim Pickings

Slim Pickings

The screech came from behind him. The Ranger knew what it was without looking, and that he only had a few seconds left to live. If there had been only one red dragon, he might have survived; but against two, he and the Barbarian were done for.

For a heart-breaking second Hank froze in fear. He'd always know that there was a chance he'd die in the Realm, but he'd never thought it would happen. Despite their ages, and their inexperience, they'd always managed to survive before. They'd always won, and that knowledge had lent him an air of invincibility.

And he'd always thought they would go home. Back to the lives they'd been torn from, back to a place they were safe. He could be with the girl he loved; he'd marry her, no matter what anyone else thought.

Now that was never going to happen. He'd never even know what it was like to touch her, to love her with all his body and soul.

_Sheila._

It was the thought of her that made him move. The dragon in front was inflating its chest, ready to belch fire at him, and he could only assume they other was doing the same, so he threw himself forward and twisted to the side, hoping he was fast enough, and hoping Bobby was safe. The two simultaneous jets of fire singed the side of his leg, but he kept rolling and sliding in the mud, even as the flames licked round his torso. Then suddenly there was a lurch and he dropped into a bowl in the uneven ground. Above, the flames blackened the grass, and he hid his face from the heat.

The flame died away, leaving the Ranger shaking and covered in sweat, and hardly able to believe he'd managed to get out of their way. There was the whoosh of wings as the dragons pulled up and Hank scrambled into a sitting position and lifted the Bow. He fired a volley of six arrows, all he could manage in such a short space of time, and each one looped round the snout of the nearest dragon, clamping its jaws shut.

It stalled in mid air, as it brought its arms and legs up to its face, trying to get free of the infuriating magic and started to descend. Hank knew the other was close by, but the dusk was drawing darker, and he couldn't see far enough. But he wasn't going to wait around. He pushed himself up, and ran.

Behind him, there was a deep thud as the dragon landed, still writhing in anger, its claws scratching at the loops of energy round its mouth. Ducking behind a boulder, Hank loosed another volley, trapping the downed dragon with even more bands of energy. It let out a muffled scream, and thrashed even more wildly, striking out with its tail and smashing anything within reach. Stone chippings showered down around him, and he covered his face to protect his eyes, still aware that the second dragon could be anywhere.

Suddenly, from beside him there was a crash, and the ground began to shake.

Hank looked up just in time to see the dragon teetering on the edge of a chasm, and Bobby the Barbarian standing proudly at one side of it.

Only an instant passed as the dragon desperately tried to right itself, but the energy ropes held it fast and instead of breaking free, it toppled over onto one side and slid over the edge into whatever lay at the bottom of the cleft.

There was a whump, and a sudden silence.

The Barbarian looked pleased, but Hank could only think of the other dragon. It wouldn't…

A scream to his left made him jump. The dragon was so close; he could see the glint of the evening on its scales. He didn't even have time to lift the Bow, let alone pull an arrow. Seeing its prey undefended, the Dragon moved for the kill, its claws thrust forward to deal the killing blow.

Abruptly, there was a searing pain in his chest. At first he thought it was a burn from the dragon's fire, but there was nothing there, no heat and no flame.

He had time to draw breath, then light, excruciating white light, burst out of his chest.

The dragon reared away, trashing its head as if blinded, and let loose a terrible, piercing shriek that brought tears to his eyes.

The light still poured out. It was as if he were impaled on a beam of light, it held him fast, taking his strength and soul. He wanted to run, he would have done anything to break free, but he simply could not move.

He stood there for almost a minute and the light didn't stop.

As abruptly as it had started, the light stopped. Hank dropped to the ground and lay there, his body limp. Pain rang through him as if he'd been crushed in a vice and all the air sucked out of him.

Nothing would ever make him move again.

Nothing.

But in a Realm without absolutes, there would always be something, and from somewhere close by, Bobby's terrified voice broke through the pain.

'Sheeeeilaaaaa!'

* * *

Shelia had seen broken images of the fight through a water haze. She'd seen Hank dive out of the way, and the huge waves of fire roll just past him. She'd seen Bobby duck down behind a boulder and one of the animals plummet to the ground with glowing golden bands around its snout.

Then a sudden wave swamped her again, and she was pulled under, hardly even having time to draw breath. The current held her, and dragged her down, but she could just make out lights through the swirling water around her.

She tried to push up and back to the surface, just as she'd done before, but this time her strength was failing too fast; she hadn't even had a chance to take a proper breath and her chest began to ache much faster than before. She wanted to scream out for help, but there was no way she could even managed that.

In her blind panic, she trashed against the force of the river, but she only sank further down.

It wasn't going to work

It wasn't…

Above the water, there was a light, whiter and purer than she had ever seen; even though the murky river it was almost too bright to look at. For a fraction for a second she feared the worst, that Hank was gone and Bobby too. In despair, she seemed to sink, and the treacherous current took advantage and dragged her further down. The light faded.

Then something changed.

Something was pushing her up, almost as if a giant hand had hold of her and was dragging her out of the current. Her chest ached as she was crushed in its grip. She inhaled water, then more water, then there was a sudden inrush of air.

The pain in her chest hadn't stopped.

The Thief coughed up water, and gulped in air at every chance she got. To her surprise she was close to the river's edge, away from the main flow. She was safe.

'Sheeeeilaaaaa!'

Before she could turn, her brother engulfed her in a fierce hug, burrowing into her shoulder in a rare display of needy affection. Still coughing she held him back.

She had survived.

They all had.

She looked up to see Hank staggering towards her, looking ashen even in the dim evening light. Seeing the look of love and relief on his face didn't stop the question.

'How?'

* * *

Bright, burning magic died from his fingers, and the images in the Mirror changed. For a few moments, Venger watched the tender reunion of the Thief and the Ranger, and saw the tears fall. Then he turned his back on the images.

It was done.

The Magician had given in so easily; it had almost been too simple. Thanks to the great weakness of loyalty, it would be over and he would have his willing slave. This time there would be no escape. He had learned from before, he had to ensure complete allegiance from the human this time. The accursed Ranger had not had enough to lose when he had fought against those repulsive little Cloudbears. He would not make the same mistake this time.

There would be no more mistakes.

But in the midst of his contemplation, Venger frowned.

There was the question of the missing weapon. What he had told the Magician was true; the Mirror does not lie. But it does not always tell the truth, either. The Cavalier could well be dead, but there was another possibility; for there was only one other thing that could affect the seeing power of a Mirror.

If that truly was the answer, then there were more players of this game than he had thought.

There would be more to lose.

_And more to gain!_

* * *


	7. Chapter 6 Silent Running

Silent Running

There was no moment of confusion as he woke. There was no way he could forget where he was, the dank smell and the damp air couldn't be ignored. Within a few seconds of waking, he forced his eyes open, even knowing what he would see.

It was still dark.

The darkness was overpowering; it was suffocating, it was never going to stop and he was never going to figure out how to get them free of these infernal caves. They were just going round in circles.

The Cavalier could hear the soft shallow breaths of his companion. Somehow she knew he was awake even though he hadn't moved, so Uni snuffled against his hand, begging for more attention. She was still shivering. During the past days in darkness, Eric had managed to keep going, with the occasional prod from the Unicorn. But he was getting weaker.

The Shield was just beside him, and he concentrated on it, trying to summon its power enough to get a little light. Slowly, a pale glow came from the weapon, but there was barely enough light to make out Uni's faceas she sat next to him. It was just another sign that he was getting weaker. The first time he'd tried, God knows how many days ago now, the light it had given off had cast full shadow over the wall of the cave. This time, he couldn't see further than the end of his arm. The rest was still pitch black.

'You ready to try again?' he asked. His voice echoed around the walls,even though he'd spoken in a hoarse whisper.

Uni closed her eyes for a few seconds, and a familiar expression crossed her face. Then she shook her head.

'Great,' he muttered. 'So we're walking.'

But secretly, he was relieved. Teleporting hadn't helped; every time they'd ended up still in the caves, with even less of an idea where they were. And every time they sensation of teleportation made them both feel worse. He hadn't been sick, but that was only because he'd not eaten since the evening before going to the Orc camp. Now he was beyond hungry, he was beyond tired as well. They'd managed to find a few puddles of slimy water, but that was all. There was nothing else.

Eric pushed himself to his feet, holding on to the cold cave wall to keep steady. The armour and Shield were impossibly heavy. Even when he'd first arrived in the Realm, all those years ago, the armour hadn't been this much of a burden.

He almost couldn't move this time. He hadn't realised it before, but he was close to giving up for good. After all the Young Ones had been through, after all they near misses and failures, he had never stopped believing they would get back home.

Until now.

Uni might eventually get out, once he was gone. It had taken him a few days, but he'd realised that trying to take him teleporting as well was too much for such a young unicorn. She knew he knew, but she still wouldn't try to leave without him.

Her loyalty touched him in a way he could not explain. Even though he'd been a constant jerk during most of the time they'd known each other, she seemed as loyal to him as she'd been to the Barbarian, even after he'd wanted to leave her to her fate with Kelek. But it was still the painful truth that she could have been free of these caves without him.

He'd tried reasoning with her, and shouting at her, but at both extremes he'd gotten the same truculent look (the one she'd picked up from Bobby) and she'd refused to listen.

She shuffled along beside him, even now, keeping her head low as he walked forward, keeping a tight grip on the wall.

For the first few days, he'd kept thinking about his friends, hoping they were close, and trying to think up clever ways of attracting their attention in the darkness. But that had slowly changed to fear, then grown to full-blown panic, and finally, as his strength drained away, resignation filled him. It didn't matter and he didn't care. He was never gonna get out.

But this time as they walked, there was something different. Uni seemed restless. She kept looking round and then pausing for not reason. This was such a change from before, that Eric slowly began to get worried.

Eventually, he stopped. By the thin light of the Shield, he watched her.

'What's wrong?'

The unicorn looked round, her expression unchanged.

The Cavalier followed her look, and waited. Someone was coming, someone Uni didn't recognise, or didn't like. He smothered the sudden fear that Venger had found him. Even if it was the Arch-Mage, it still didn't matter.

He waited, his monotonous, rasping breaths the only sound.

Perhaps Uni was wrong.

_Perhaps…_

A light flickered in the distance, throwing high shadows across the walls. Eric glanced down at Uni. She wasn't going anywhere. And neither was he. They'd just have to wait.

A curious sense of unreality crept over him. He was too tired to feel elation, and after all that darkness, he didn't really believe his eyes. The group of men that appeared made no impression on him, and he watched calmly as they approached.

The tallest of them, their leader, walked straight up to him with a cautious expression, and when Eric didn't move or speak, he finally grew tried of waiting for a reaction and swung the pommel of his sword across the Cavalier face. A light tap would have sent him to the ground, but this made Eric crumple like a paper bag. Laughter spread round the group.

The stinging pain across his jaw helped rouse him from his dark-induced stupor, and he managed to glare up at the men. It was real. How often had he hoped?

The leader had the familiar sneer that the Orcs did, but behind the eyes was a harsh, pragmatic look that was purely human. He reached down to pull the Cavalier standing.

'Looks like we've finally caught up with you,' he said with a smile.

He looked down at the armour with distaste, then raised his knee swiftly into Eric's groin. The Cavalier doubled up with a cry and tears came to his eyes, but the leader didn't let him fall.

'That was for leading us round in circles, and keeping us in the caves' the man said. 'You sorry?'

Eric couldn't speak. He got another blow across the face, then he his arm was twisted behind his back and he was forced to the ground, his bloody cheek pushed hard to the stone.

'I asked if you were sorry.'

Eric grunted, and tried to nod.

It was enough.

'Good,' said the leader. 'Now, let's go!'

His arms were tied behind his back and he was pulled up off the ground. One of the men had caught Uni by the horn, and was dragging her forward. All her kicking and pawing was to no avail. Finally, a sickening kick in the side made her go limp.

The group made no delay, and the Cavalier was made to walk. The pace was quick, as if the men didn't want to spend another moment in these caves now that they had found him, and it was clear that they knew which way was out.

His head was spinning, and he was too disorientated to reason. But the fact they were looking for him, specifically, and here specifically wasn't good. But he couldn't think of any answers to the question, so he concentrated to walking instead.

Eric managed to stay upright for a long while. With proper torches, there was no more worry about falling down pits, or slipping and breaking his leg. But the exhaustion and lack of food, as well as his brand new injuries had taken their toll. One moment he was on his feet staggering forward, the next he was back, face down, on the ground.

There was shouting around him, which made the thump in his head more. He vaguely wished he could just slip back into the darkness… He would be safe there…

'Hey, c'mon wake up!'

Eric recognised the voice of the leader, even though it sounded tinny and distorted.

'He just collapsed, Ranyar,' said another voice. 'One moment upright, the next…'

Eric was pulled over, to find Ranyar staring intently at him.

'Shit, she's going to lynch us if anything happens to him,' he muttered. 'Why didn't you keep your eye's open?'

Ranyar looked up at the other man, a fierce glare on his face. But the other man made no reply.

'Well, pick him up then,' he told the others.

Eric was hauled upright, and he tried to stand up unaided, but he couldn't even take his own weight.

'Shit,' said Ranyar again.

From his pack, Ranyar brought out a small flask. With a surprising gentleness, Ranyar cupped his hand behind Eric head, and brought the flask to his lips. The Cavalier expected it to be something terrible, like that Orc stuff, or maybe even something alcoholic, but there was no smell. Tentatively, Eric took a mouthful.

It was like being thrown into cold water. A chilling, pure ache filled his mouth and throat, but it felt so good to have something real to drink that, even though he could hardly breath, he gulped down as much as possible. Ranyar let him finish the flask.

'How long you been in here?' asked Ranyar.

Eric shook his head. He had no idea. His stomach had gone cold too, and he was shaking.

The man glanced down at the empty flask.

'Must have been a long time. We searched the caves for seven days until we found you.'

_Seven? Had it been seven days?_ Seven days of darkness. Was that all?

He looked up into Ranyar's face. The man seemed genuinely surprised that Eric had survived.

The others were looking at him too, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the grubby white unicorn staring at him. Seven times they'd tried to teleport out, seven times. Now, with everyone's attention on him, he realised what she had to do. It had to be time to teleport again. She could do it. She could get free. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, she was his only hope. Funny how, after all this time, it should come to this…

But she still hesitated.

_Go Uni_, he whispered to himself. _Go while you have the chance. Get the others. Find them and get help. Please, just go!_

He didn't dare look at her properly, for fear the men would notice, and do something, drastic, or painful, or terminal. They had already shown they could be violent if necessary. But he couldn't let the opportunity pass.

Eric risked a quick glance at the unicorn, hoping that would be enough to persuade her to take her chances. He glimpsed the look on her face, and saw her brief nod.

_Uni, go! GO!_

Just as the tip of her horn started to glow, Ranyar turned, following Eric's glance.

'The unicorn!' he shouted.

It was a fraction too late, and Uni disappeared before any of the men could get to her.

'Forget it!' snapped Ranyar to the others. 'We're late, and we've still got the one we came for.'

'But she was worth a lot of money,' said another.

Ranyar gestured at the Cavalier.

'This one's worth more. You think she'll let us live if we don't get back in time!'

The other men seemed to agree with this, and though there were murmurs of annoyance, they started to move forward. But before he turned away, Ranyar grabbed the Cavalier's throat, with a snarl.

'That was a clever trick,' he said. 'But you're going to live to regret that, boy!' The grip tightened. 'I'll see to it. Personally!'

* * *


	8. Chapter 7 External Forces

Chapter 7

External forces.

'How long's it been?' asked Sheila.

Hank tightened his grip round her shoulders, but didn't reply. It was dark, so they must have been waiting here for at least five hours. And the longer they waited, the more serious the situation became.

'At least we found somewhere safe,' he said at last. 'At least Diana's getting help.'

The walk to the town had almost killed him. They had searched the forest for almost a day before finding Diana, and whatever had saved them had also protected her from whatever dangerous creatures it contained. But she was unconscious, and they couldn't wake her up, and he had no idea what was wrong.

He'd picked her up, glad she was reasonably light, and they'd walked for another two days before stumbling into this town. They'd found little water and less food and by the end he could barely stand up.

At first, he'd been afraid no one would help, but they were recognised almost immediately. The Dungeonmaster had visited, telling the townspeople to look out for them. At least the old man was trying to help, in his own way.

They'd been taken to the Healer's house; Hank couldn't forget the look of worry that had crossed the man's face when he'd seen the Acrobat. They were shown to their own rooms, but Bobby and Sheila soon came to his for company. And together, they'd waited.

And waited.

Before too long, Bobby had sunk into a deep sleep and Sheila had put him to bed in his room down the corridor. Hank had wanted Sheila to try and rest too, but she'd refused to let him stay up and face this alone. So they had sat pressed close together, to wait for news.

At last, there were quiet footsteps outside the door, and a knock. A man in green robes appeared through the door, his expression was one of concern. One look, and a cold, white stab of fear shot through the Ranger.

'How's Diana?'

'She sleeps,' the man said. 'There is nothing more I can do, for now.'

'But, what's wrong, will she be ok? Won't she?' asked Sheila, her voice choked full of emotion.

The man gave a small, but warm, smile.

'Your friend must find her own way back where she belongs, if she can. She is strong, and she has good friends that care for her, but we can only watch over her, and wait.'

'How long?' said Hank.

'Maybe hours, maybe days,' was the reply. 'There's nothing more you can do. Please, you should rest.'

The man looked between the two as if trying to reassure them, then bowed, and closed the door behind him.

There was silence for a couple of seconds, and Hank closed his eyes, thankful that at least the Acrobat was still alive. Then Sheila turned into his shoulder and began to cry. Great shuddering sobs crashed through her body as all the pent up fear and frustration of the past few days was released. He brother wasn't here; she didn't have to pretend anymore.

He held as tightly as he could, trying to tell her it would be alright and Diana would be fine, but his words just made her cry harder.

'It's been over two weeks,' she said at last. 'Over two weeks and we haven't had any sign.'

_Presto._

_Eric._

_Uni._

Anything could have happened to them; they had only just survived themselves. Who knows what fate had befallen the others.

'They could be… anywhere,' whispered Sheila.

He almost suggested they could have gotten home, but he stopped himself. She wasn't gonna believe that either! He ran his hand over her hair and she leaned against him, tears running down her cheeks.

'What are we gonna do?' she asked.

There was only one answer to give, even though he knew it wasn't going to help.

'I don't know, Sheila. I have no idea where to start.'

It was getting to be embarrassing; this time he had lurched from one disaster to another. Ever since they had set foot in that Orc camp there had been nothing but trouble. The girl was dead and his other friends had disappeared. He was lost; his confidence was in pieces and he just didn't know how to make things ok this time. The Thief gave a shaky sigh but didn't break down again. It was good to tell her the truth.

'You need to get some rest,' he said. 'You need to sleep. I'll watch over you.'

He made as if to move, but Sheila just held on to him more tightly.

'No.'

Hank looked into her eyes; there was a look that he didn't recognise there. The fear and regret of moments ago was totally forgotten, and he wanted her more in that moment than he had ever done before; so beautiful, so vulnerable and so alone.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned down, and kissed her.

* * *

Eric had grown up watching adults in conflict, so it didn't take him very long to figure out what was going on. The group of men that had captured him seemed to be mercenaries, but their trip through the caves to find him had obviously pushed their loyalty to the limits. The loss of the rare and coveted unicorn had made them angry, more for the loss of income than anything else. 

They'd beaten him twice since that first day; his armour had been removed each time then, half-naked, he had been hurt and humiliated until their frustration had been vented. But it wasn't as bad as it could have been; he'd been beaten up more painfully at school. They had been rough, but realistic enough to know that he had to reach his final destination in one piece. They weren't going to risk losing more money. Ranyar had watched with a frown, but had no real desire, and perhaps no _power_, to stop them.

And that thought was more unpleasant than anything these thugs could dish out.

Well, that, and the fact they'd mentioned a "she" a number of times, always with the same intonation of fear. He'd watched those crappy fifties films with Presto; he knew that having someone the underlings were afraid to name was a bad thing. At least with Venger they knew what they were up against. His natural sense of self-preservation was in overdrive, but there was no way he could get away. Ranyar was too canny for that. Instead, the Cavalier kept himself from panicking by watching the group, and learning anything he could use to his advantage.

Eventually, they had left the caves, but that hadn't made him feel any better. He didn't recognise the surroundings, and they seemed to be heading upwards, further into the mountains which was hard work in the armour, and even worse as they refused to unbind his hands from behind his back. He had consoled himself that at least he had food, and was warm, and that Uni would have found the others by now, they would be catching up every day. All he had to do was hang on.

It had taken days to cross the mountains and, much to his surprise, they came to a small fortress, nestling under the cliff. Ranyar and his gang seem pleased, they hadn't beaten his since they left the caves, and Eric had sensed that this place was their ultimate destination.

Now, as he walked through the gate, he wished he had been wrong. It was without the usual sounds of any sort of encampment; no sound of horses or other beasts, no sound of life at all. There were only a couple of guards, mercenaries too. Eric had the feeling that whoever was in charge didn't need them; whatever else was here, there was powerful magic and that did little to ease his fears.

None of his captors were at happy about this place, the men hung together barely talking as their leader spent a long time in deep, animated conversation with one of the gate guards before they were finally taken through the dark corridors and into the main hall.

It was narrow, with only a couple of chairs, and lit in the same way as the rest of the fortress. The Cavalier couldn't help thinking that whoever owned this place was very rarely here. There was a smell of dust and still air that he'd only met before in some of the abandoned houses they'd occasionally taken shelter in.

'You're late.'

Eric almost missed a step. He recognised that voice. Of all the people he'd suspected, he'd never though of her. Stupid really, she was the one that had started all this; the one they'd gone to for help in the first place.

The Seer.

She was standing at the end of the hall, wearing the same simple white robe as she had when they'd first met. But she looked harsher, colder and more powerful. Eric frowned. It was on her advice that they had gone to the Orc camp in the first place. Had she planned their defeat? Was she working with Venger? Had she already caught the others?

With a careless flick of the wrist she tossed a bag of coins at Ranyar, who just started counting. From somewhere behind her, three impassive, grey-clad guards appeared, and Eric got a sudden wave of panic.

Evil Villains all have the same weakness, he thought, the sound their own voice. Get her talking; get as much information as you can. The others could be here any minute. Keep alert, keep thinking. Keep hoping…

Ranyar handed over the Shield to one of the guards, who took it to the Seer. She ran her fingers over the surface slowly. Then she looked directly at the Cavalier for the first time, with a cold, leering stare. It was a look that made his skin crawl. He wasn't a person, he was a commodity, something to be bartered with; something to use up and thrown away. The panic grew more acute. He might still be bound, and surrounded by heartless mercenaries, but he was damned if her was going to give her the satisfaction of making him break down. He took a deep breath, trying to stare back.

'Whaddya want with me?' he said, cringing at the squeaky pitch of his voice.

A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, but she ignored the question. One of the men behind cuffed him across the face for speaking out of turn.

Ranyar looked up.

'It's not all here,' he said.

'That's for making me wait,' she said. 'And I wanted the unicorn. Since _you_ lost her in the caves, _you'll_ have to pay.'

Eric just managed to stop himself asking how she knew. The look on Ranyar's face showed that he was as surprised as the Cavalier. The way she seemed to _know_ was unnerving. _She is a Seer, I suppose…_

But that wasn't it. His day as the Dungeonmaster had had an effect; he recognised bad magic when he saw it, and this woman was steeped in some kind of power that he'd never seen before. Not even in Venger. And she'd hidden it completely at their first meeting, or he would never have gone along with Hank's plan.

Ranyar stared at the woman with the same look he'd used every time Eric had been beaten. Then he shrugged.

'I do have more work for you, Ranyar, should you wish more money. My guest will need to be prepared.'

It was the expression on her face that terrified him; a piece of meat, that's all he was. There was no emotion, no reaction to him at all.

She's insane! 

Ranyar didn't seem pleased at the prospect of remained here either, but the thought of earning more money won. He nodded. Then the grey-clad guards moved forward at a gesture from the Seer and Eric was half dragged, half marched through the halls of the fortress and down into the dungeon.

Waiting at the open door was another person, in a long crimson robe and with a cowl over his head. At least, it might have been a person. It could have been a demon. It could have been anything. The powerful aura of dark magic made Eric stop his futile struggling; he could barely draw breath without a crushing wave of fear.

They forced him through the door, into the freezing cold dungeon. There were a few sundry stones, and a small table, but the thing that caught his attention was the table with the manacles on it.

'Tie him down.'

He opened his mouth to speak but something struck him in the stomach. His knees buckled and he was lifted, helpless, on to the table.

* * *

Presto was alone. 

He was in one of the rooms at the top of Venger's castle. It was quiet and cool, with a fantastic view out across the Realm that he had quickly grown to detest. He'd seen no one but the Orcs who'd brought his food.

Nothing had happened. After _that_ night, there had been nothing. _Nothing!_ Presto wasn't foolish enough to think Venger would have forgotten about their bargain. He was just toying with him; making him wait.

He had nothing to take his mind off his friends. Hank and Sheila; Bobby and Diana. _Eric…_

He hadn't even cried. Though the Mirror had shown him only empty space and darkness, Presto couldn't help but hope that the Cavalier was still out there, somewhere. In his heart, he couldn't stop that hope. And he longed to look into the Mirror's dark depths again and find out more.

As usual, there were footsteps by the door. The Orcs were here, with food and water. Presto didn't bother turning round to watch them.

'Good evening, Magician.'

The voice made Presto go cold. He was here at last. A complex mix of pride, relief and fear compelled him to turn and face the Arch-Mage. There was almost no emotion on that pale face, except the faint hint of excitement. Yet he looked different, older maybe, harder and _more_ evil, if that were possible.

'The ground never opens up and swallows you when you need it to…' the Magician murmured.

Venger took as step back, to allow Presto to precede him out of the door. Somehow, the Magician managed to move, and the momentum him carried him forward.

Much to his surprise, Venger guided him back to the main hall, where the Mirror stood, uncovered.

'So you may see that I have kept my word,' said the Arch-Mage.

He had wanted so much to see in the days before that Presto had trouble stopping himself running forward. The Mirror seemed different, too. It had more… life was the wrong word, but it had more _something_, as if before it had been coming out of a very deep sleep.

The images flickered almost as soon as he saw the surface. There was a jumble, but he saw red dragons fall from the sky, then Hank and Sheila embrace by the river's edge. Then there was a quiet room, and Diana lay there as the Healer prayed at her side. Bobby was sleeping.

'They are safe, as you see,' said Venger, now standing uncomfortably close behind him. Presto nodded. It was difficult to tear himself away from the Mirror, much harder than before. He wanted to see the future. It would show him what was…

'No!' It was a command, and the Mirror went dark. Presto turned to face Venger, expecting retribution, but there was only that sinister smile.

'You may look once more. Afterwards,' said Venger.

Again, the Arch-Mage took a step back. This time, there were Drow in the doorway, waiting.

Presto closed his eyes for a second.

_For my friends…_

* * *


	9. Chapter 8 Transformation Part I

WWch08

Transformation - Part1

Their kisses grew deeper, and longer, and harder. Hank didn't want to wait any more, and it was clear that Sheila didn't want to either. During their imprisonment in the Realm, the feelings had grown more obvious and more difficult to ignore. There was such desperate hunger in the way they touched each other; now they were together, he could hardly control himself.

There was no need to wait. He wanted to pull her clothes off as fast as he could, to savour the sight and sensations he had so long denied himself.

Pulling away, he looked at her. Though her cheeks were damp with tears and her eyes red, the Thief had never seemed more desirable. So many nights, alone, he had imagined this moment.

He slid his hand up her arm and over to the front of her collar. She didn't stop him. He popped the buttons on her dress and helped her pull it over her head, noticing she wore no bra, then he pulled off his own shirt.

Her skin was warm and her hands were shaking as she reached out to pull him closer.

* * *

The dungeon door opened and, for one final time, Venger stepped back to allow Presto to enter first.

The Magician was hit with a wall of warm, moist air that smelt of rotting wood and he had to suppress a cough. The room had only three things in it; an old wooden table, a giant fish tank of dark water, and the haughty female Drow he'd seen before.

The door swung shut, then the Arch-Mage stepped up behind him, close enough for Presto to feel the air stir.

'Remember our agreement, Magician.'

As if he could forget.

'Yes.' A whisper was all Presto could manage.

'You are to be my willing Servant, or your friends…' With malicious cruelty, Venger let the sentence hang. It was too late for questions or thoughts of escape. Since that night, he'd been trapped. He stared at the tank. There was something moving in there, there must be, the water was sloshing gently against the sides. _Something…_

He couldn't guess what Venger wanted, but whatever was in that tank was part of it.

'You must prepare yourself,' Venger said, after almost a minute of silence. Presto dragged his attention away from the tank and stared at the table. It had obviously been down here a long time, but it was well made, and sturdy, with two metal hand grips at the top end. _For him to hold on to…_

Presto staggered slightly at the thought, hardly able to keep upright in the heat. There was no way out. He had to go through with it, whatever Venger had planned.

'Disrobe,' Venger said.

The Magician took a step forward to hold on to the table. Venger was toying with him, trying to make him break down and beg for mercy. Then he would be free to trap the others, maybe even kill them. He couldn't let them down; Eric was already gone. He couldn't let them down. _HE COULDN'T._

And he would be damned if he would give Venger the satisfaction of watching him breakdown. The Arch-Mage would have to wait an eternity for _that_.

Carefully, he took off his glasses and laid them on the edge of the table.

* * *

_Hank's kissing me! _

It was almost to perfect to even think about.

She felt a freedom that she'd never felt before. Their naked torsos were pressed together, she was only wearing her boots and her pants; Hank was only wearing his shorts. She could feel how his body responded to her touch, and it make her feel like the most beautiful woman in the whole Realm.

He ran his hand over her breast, sending a pulse of fire though her body and filling her with an insatiable need for more; to touch and be touched until there was nowhere left to explore.

She could hardly believe it was actually, finally, going to happen between them. At last they were going to make love to each other, the way she'd dreamed about.

They could have a night together, be close and safe from everything else that threatened them. No fear and no pain, just safety in each other's arms. And tomorrow, everything would be different.

* * *

The guards pinned him down with a quick, ruthless efficiency that was less to do with practice, and more to do with terror. The hooded creature stood at the back, though the eyes were hidden, it filled the room with a chilling fear that was even colder than the temperature. His breastplate was removed, and his mail shirt and boots, then they gagged him, making sure his mouth was shut so he couldn't make any loud noise.

He was shivering, and though he tried to struggle, the creature was watching him. And the more it watched, the less he was able to move. Somewhere behind him, out of his line of sight, he knew the Seer was there too.

His legs were tied, and his right wrist was fastened down at his side. But his left wrist was fixed very tightly above his head, so the whole of his left side was exposed. He couldn't have felt more vulnerable and defenceless if they had stripped him completely.

After checking each of the manacles once more, the guards left; except Ranyar, who stood by the closed door with a look of revulsion across his face. He couldn't look Eric in the face.

Only when everything was quiet did the thing in the robes move forward.

* * *

She tasted beautiful. Though her mouth and kisses had felt wonderful, her breasts were a thousand times better. He wanted to drown in their texture for the whole night.

His soon-to-be lover was underneath him; her boots discarded her clothes removed, so naked and open and fuckable that he knew he couldn't stop.

He was moving too fast; he knew it but he didn't care at that point. It could have only been a few minutes since they'd first kissed, but already they were naked, lying pressed together on the bed.

His own need was close to overwhelming. He had to have her right now.

Grabbing one of her breasts, he moved himself into a good position between her legs. He could feel her heart beating under his hand. She was looking up at him, he lips slightly apart as if she wanted to speak, but didn't know what to say.

He didn't know what to say either. He didn't think there were any words that would tell he what she meant to him, what this moment meant to him.

His weight had pinned her to the bed and looked into her eyes, hoping to see his own need reflected there. She looked scared, and he tried to show her how he felt.

But he didn't stop. He didn't _want_ to stop. He _couldn't_ stop now he was so close to her.

So instead of speaking, he kissed her once more, hoping she would understand what he meant.

* * *

Presto had his eyes closed as he lay on the table; face down as the Arch-Mage had instructed him. He was only wearing his shorts; and Venger must have known how vulnerable it made him.

The Magician could hear the footsteps as his captor paced round the table, but couldn't look because he didn't want to know. If he didn't know, then maybe he could pretend this wasn't really happening, that it was all just a dream, and he would wake up at the end as if nothing had happened.

There were noises behind him, wet noises and a soft snarling and snapping. The Drow woman started to sing, high-pitched, discordant and painful to listen to. He wished the noise would stop.

It did, after a few terrible minutes, and Presto quickly wished it would start again; at least then there was something else to fill the silence rather that just the heavy, measured footfalls of Venger.

He heard the Drow move towards the table and was suddenly sure there was something else there as well. There was a movement against his side and he felt the prick of tiny claws. Shuddering, he gripped the metal bars and screwed his eyes more tightly shut as whatever it was started to pull itself up onto his body.

* * *

The creature waitedat his left side for almost a minute.

He could see more of it, since it was so close. The hands that hovered over his chest were like human hands, but thinner, with grey, greasy skin and cracked nails. He didn't dare move in case it tried to touch him.

Worse than the hands was the smell; like shit and vomit, and thanks to the gag he couldn't avoid it; every time he inhaled it was a struggle not to be sick.

And it as cold, like lying in a pool of still, chilled water. He was shivering.

After waiting for along while, the creature spoke. It was in the quietest of voices, and even though Eric couldn't understand the words, he could feel evil magic of the darkest and most dangerous nature stirring.

The hands started to shake.

His breath caught in his throat. It was going to touch him. He pulled at the restraints but he couldn't move.

_It was going to touch him. Dear God it was going to touch him._

He gave a muffled cry as the hands brushed against his chest, and a wave of revulsion spread through him. It was Evil; it was disgusting; it was…

But the hands didn't stop at his skin.

Horrified beyond fear, Eric watched as its hand slid into his chest.

* * *

Presto had no idea what kind of thing crawled over his side, the claws catching in his skin as it heaved itself up his body. It felt wet and slimy; there were trickles of water running down his spine and over his sides.

It stopped over between his shoulder blades, and began to lick. The harsh rasping tongue seemed to be stripping away the top layer of his skin. The pain made him flinch. What made it worse was the knowledge that he could stop it any time he wanted to. All he had to do was turn round and pull it off.

But he couldn't let Venger win. He didn't dare. He knew the price of failure.

He had to think of his surviving friends.

The pain grew as it changed from licking to biting. Needle sharp teeth dug into his back. It felt like it was pulling chunks of his flesh away too. Every time, he cried out, not caring what Venger thought. But he didn't turn round. He didn't pull it off.

Hands white with gripping the bars, he kept his eyes closed, trying to concentrate of anything that would take the pain away.

He had to keep going. He had to keep going. It didn't matter; _he_ didn't matter. He had to keep going. _Keep going, keep going…_

Abruptly, the pain stopped. His skin throbbed with heat of the open cut on his back. He could feel hot breath beside it. The creature was still there.

For a minute, it waited, almost as if it was catching its breath. When it moved, it pushed against the cut, and pain burst through the Magician.

It was forcing its way into him. There was a brief pause, as if the creature was so bloated it had managed to get itself stuck, then it pushed once more.

The excruciating pain made Presto pass out.

* * *

She was underneath Hank, with his weight pushing down onto her. He was ready, but was she? She wanted to be. She wanted to share everything with him, she wanted so much to be his, and for this to be perfect.

But it felt clumsy, perfection was fading fast and suddenly she was frightened. It was such a big step; it was a commitment. It was…

She felt him push, and she screamed.

* * *

He could feel the creature reaching into his chest with its icy fingers. He expected pain; pain would have been good. Instead, it was a disgusting feeling, he felt dirty and corrupted, all the more with every passing second. He wanted to look away, but he stared as if his eyes were forced to stay open and watch.

As it moved its hand more confidently, Eric was sure he could feel it reaching all the way through him. His lungs seemed to be full of the thing's stench and he was sick, but was forced to swallow as the gag was in the way.

It searched inside him, sometimes moving slowly, sometimes moving fast, but always with the same deliberate malice. Every second that passed made Eric want to scream in revulsion. He pulled at the restraint on his arm, trying to cover himself, but he couldn't move.

There was no way to make it stop.

After what seemed like hours, the creature hissed something that Eric barely heard, and Seer was there beside it in an instant. A piece of meat, a commodity to be bargained with…_that was the look on her face._

'You have it?'

She lifted her hand in anticipation of the answer. On her palm was a tiny, clear crystal, like a shard of broken glass. Then the creature grasped something in his chest, making him start. Sickness filled him mouth again. The creature pulled.

This time there was pain, as if something inside him had been crushed, and there was a growing pressing on his chest. He found it hard to keep breathing. It was like he was drowning from the inside out.

It pulled.

Then it had to pull harder.

And harder.

And harder until something snapped. A shiver like a shockwave coursed through Eric's body. Numbness spread out through him, but somehow he didn't loose consciousness, however desperate he was for oblivion.

When the hand withdrew, the fist was still clenched, whatever it had taken from him still held inside. It was passed to the Seer, but he still couldn't see what it was.

The creature spoke. A single word.

'Reward.' The voice was deep, the sound slurred and laced with menace. The Seer waved the creature forward.

'A taste of innocence; that is what we agreed. Just don't kill him.'

It leaned across towards his throat.

Smell was terrible and Eric glimpsed stained, brown teeth, viciously sharp. There was the lightest breath on his neck, then a needle sharp pain.

He welcomed darkness.

_

* * *

_

_Somewhere, it was quiet, and the stars were bright in her mind. The spinning of the world had stopped and she could just look out across the silent universe, seeing the bright points of light as they swirled and danced. _

_She had been lost. She had almost been lost for eternity. But now, she knew the way back, and she knew the way home._

_She was free._

* * *


	10. Chapter 9 Transformation Part II

Transformation Part II

Hank pretended he was asleep.

He could hear her breathing and could feel the curve of her back and hips against him. But he couldn't sleep. Not now.

They'd _done_ it. They had done _it._ Sex. Here. Together. He and Sheila had finally had sex, here, tonight.

So why did he feel like this? She was lying curled up on her side, facing the wall. She wouldn't even talk to him. There was a look on her face afterwards, as he'd asked her if she was alright that he'd never seen before, and it worried him. It had been painful, for both of them, and he trusted her enough to know that she would have told him if there was anything wrong.

But why was it so awkward?

And why didn't he understand?

* * *

Eric drifted back into consciousness, discordant images flashing in front of him. It felt like he was being pulled back from sleep against his will. 

There was the worst feeling inside him; not that he'd ever been very, very drunk, but it was the woozy kind of sickness that he associated with alcohol. There was an awful taste in his mouth, as if his insides were coated in pond scum. He ached as well, even without moving he could tell that his neck was sore. All the way down his left side it felt like he had an enormous bruise, and it was difficult to breathe properly.

He remembered what had happened to him in fits and starts; not that he particularly wanted to know, but having a big blank patch in his past was worse. He forced himself to relive the last few minutes before he passed out: the creature; the smell; the feeling of disgust; and the pain.

'Wake up.'

The Cavalier recognised the voice, and was overwhelmed with the urge to do what she said and open his eyes. But before he did, he made himself remember who she was, and what she'd done to him.

He hated her; that fucking Seer had it planned out down to the last sick detail; she'd captured and tortured him deliberately. And he was going to find out why, even if it killed him.

Eric opened his eyes, though the lids felt like they had been stuck together. He was in a plain room, painted in muted colours, with almost no furniture save for the bed he was lying on. The Seer was sitting beside him, smiling down like a demented nurse, so pleased that he could almost smell the self-satisfaction. But there was something different about her, beneath the conceit, something more human and attractive; and round her neck was the shard of crystal, but now it shone with a soft yellow light. It caught his attention, and he couldn't look away.

She noticed his gaze, and raised her hand to touch it. For some reason, Eric winced as she rolled it between her finger and thumb.

'Cavalier.'

His heart lurched when she said his title, in a way that it had never done before. He didn't like that feeling.

But from the look of her, it was obvious to him that she was here to gloat, and he might as well get as much information out of her as he could while he had the chance. _Evil Villains all have the same weakness, _he thought_, the sound their own voice. _

She was obviously just _dying_ to tell him how clever she was. He had nothing to lose if he listened.

'Whadyawan.' The words slurred together, as his mouth was dry and he was having trouble moving it.

The Seer laughed, making the crystalbob lightly up and down on her chest. It was hypnotic.

'You're awake at last. I don't appreciate being kept waiting.'

He swallowed the urge to tell her to fuck off and leave him alone. Pissing her off wasn't going to help; well, not that the moment.

'Whado yawan?'

She looked at him, the madness he'd seen before lighting her eyes from inside. _Perhaps I don't want to know._

'I want to talk to you,' she replied. 'There is a lot to be said.'

_Loves the sound of her own voice,_ he thought. _Typical!_

'Everything is now in place,' she told him. 'It's only a matter of time before Venger's plan starts to unravel. He just doesn't know it yet.' She gave a light, sniggering laugh. 'It's very important that you understand, Cavalier, that I have nothing against you, personally. I wouldn't want you to think that I was… unkind. You are just a means to an end.'

It was the thought of that "end" that was driving this insane game of hers. How could he not ask? He took a deep breath and tried to get the words out coherently.

'What do you want?'

She grinned at him, and laid her hand on his in a comforting fashion. He wanted to yank it away, but he stopped himself.

'There's something I want you to see. Get dressed.'

Standing up was almost impossible, he couldn't stand up straight for the first few minutes, and that leering, greedy gaze was on him all the time as he pulled on the loose clothes that were lying at the bottom of his bed.

When he was finally dressed, she led him slowly into the hall and up some stairs, stopping at a darken room.

Inside was a Mirror.

His lip curled in revulsion when he caught sight of it. The frame was the colour of dry blood and the ornate carvings were of creatures doing horrible, unspeakable things to each other. The surface of the mirror was smooth and black, and seemed to be pulsing with a life of its own. It was Evil.

'Do you like it?' she asked. 'This is one of the Mirrors of Nynad. They "see", past present and future. I've use it to watch you.'

He had the terrible feeling she wasn't meaning that "you" in the plural.

'Venger has the other one, but he's only just found it.' She turned to smile at him, but all Eric could look at was the crystal round her neck. It was pulsing with life, too, like the Mirror, but it wasn't evil, it was… something else…

'He wants you,' said the Seer suddenly. 'He wants the Ranger more, but he was too much trouble to catch. Why don't you look?'

Eric barely heard the question tagged on at the end. All he could think of was Hank and a deep, resentful anger burned through him. With Sheila, with everything, and now even with this, he was always second to Hank!

'Why don't you _look!_' she said, a little more loudly.

He didn't want to; and not just because she suggested it. His ability to sense magic had stayed with him since the day as the Dungeonmaster, and it was currently screaming at him to stay away from that Mirror, as if his life depended on it.

'You don't want to?' She leaned forward, and the crystal swung gently against her clothes. 'But I want you to, _Cavalier_.'

There it was again, the way she said his title, it was enough to make him sick, but he felt compelled to obey her. The corners of her mouth twisted into a smile as he turned and walked towards the mirror.

Inside, he was furious with himself.But since it seemed like he had no choice, he would damn well try and turn this to his advantage, if he could. It showed past, present and future? Well, he would just look and see, and try to figure a way out of this hateful place. Then he would find a way to wipe that smug smirk off her face!

He stood in front of it and for a second he saw his reflection, cut and bruised and much thinner than he remembered, then the surface went dark.

Images appeared without warning, blurring into one another. And it wasn't just images; he could feel it, he was there in person. He could feel the heat, and hear the screams, and the water, and the terror as clearly as he could feel the clothes on his body.

_Thick smoke choked him, he could hear the Orcs shouting. Hank was slumped down, alone, despair in his heart while behind him a Red Dragon circled in the sky. Icy cold water was pulling Sheila down to her death, crushing her, choking her, she was unable to breathe. Diana was lying somewhere quiet, the whisper of prayer around her. Something was eating its way into Presto, a small, nasty little creature with magic in its eyes. Bobby slept, dreaming of his unicorn. Hank and Sheila were naked together fucking each other in slow motion. Presto was sitting in a high room, staring grimly out of the window, looking down at the height and contemplating his only escape…_

He tried to step away, but he couldn't move. The images returned, harsher and faster.

_Hank was pressing himself against Sheila, looking into her startled eyes and unable to stop the burning lust. Diana was alone in the dark, stars whirling about her head like a circlet of diamonds. Presto was in pain, frightened and alone, with no way out. Venger was…_

Suddenly, Venger was there in front of him, staring right into his eyes. It was such a heavy, wicked and amoral look that the Cavalier lifted his hands to his face, trying to protect himself.

The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He tried to make sense of the images; at least it seemed the others were all still alive. Some of them were in great danger, but they were still alive, and that was something. Presto had been hurt, and tricked into doing something horrible. Diana seemed to be in a trance, he couldn't understand properly. And Hank… his stomach lurched. Hank had fucked Sheila. However much Eric had tried to convince himself that Sheila didn't _really_ like Hank, it was now proved totally wrong. He'd known in his heart he was always second best to the perfect Ranger. But the confirmation hurt so much more viciously than he'd expected.

And in spite of what was happening to the others, he felt sick with jealousy. Hank and Sheila: It was _always_ Hank and Sheila. It wasn't fair!

'The Mirror does take a little getting used to,' said the Seer and he turned to scowl at her. 'But I hope you enjoyed what you saw. Don't worry, each time you look, it becomes easier.'

He gulped. Did that mean he had to look again? But strangely, the thought of looking at the Mirror once more didn't fill him with the dread it should have done. There was more to see, _there would always be more to see_. He paused, as what was almost a wave of magic passed through him. _It is Evil, remember, that Mirror is EVIL_! He glanced away.

The Seer walked up to him and held out her hand, to help him up off the floor. He ignored it, and pushed himself up on his own.

'Everything is now in place,' she told him. 'It's only a matter of time before Venger's plan starts to unravel and your Magician breaks under the strain. I know because I've seen it.'

'Presto?' Eric shuddered as he remembered the fleeting images of his friend he'd experience. He wanted to know what happened, and what was going to happen. He looked back to the Mirror. _Past present and future._ He knew, though he didn't understand how, that he'd only seen the past. 'What's going to happen to Presto?'

'Venger just doesn't understand,' she said. 'It's going to take a lot more than_that_to bring you all down.'

'What's going to happen?' he demanded. Presto was his best friend; there had been a terrible look of despair in the images Eric had seen. But she wasn't going to tell him! That bitch was smiling at him, and had no intention of telling him anything!

'You're missing the point. What matters, Cavalier, is that we're ready. Venger will welcome me.'

His lip curled in disgust as he thought back to the singularly unpleasant image of the Arch-Mage he'd seen. It occurred to the Cavalier then that she couldn't have seen Venger recently, because no one in their right mind would have gone within a hundred miles of him!

She was watching him, with the same look as before; he was only a means to an end, and that was all. He was right to worry about Presto, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the one he really should have been worrying about was himself.

There were footsteps from behind them, and Ranyar appeared. His face was grim, almost angry, like when they'd first met in the caves. And he couldn't look the Cavalier in the eye.

'You summoned me, my lady?'

She didn't reply to her servant, instead she smiled one more time at the Cavalier.

'Now you've recovered enough to stand,' she said, 'all we have to do is find a suitable way of keeping you… occupied. While we wait.'

* * *

Sheila lay still and pretended she was asleep. 

Why were they so far apart? They were further apart now that ever before.

Why did it have to go wrong?

It hurt, inside her there was still a terrible pain. No pleasure; no wonderful moment of togetherness. Just pain, and blood.

It was still sticky on her legs, she could feel it and it made her feel sick. Was it always like this, the first time? She felt so ashamed of herself for not being what he'd wanted. That look, afterwards, when he'd asked how it was. She couldn't stand that look. He'd wanted it to be perfect, but it wasn't. It was horrible. How could she tell him that their first time was so horrible?

Hank had fallen asleep, she could hear his heavy, laboured breathing, and hear him murmur her name. She thought about the others; Eric and Presto, her friends who were lost and alone. Instead of searching for them, they were here, gratifying the ugly lust inside them. It was an appalling thing to do. She felt liked they had betrayed them all.

As dawn broke, and the first shaft of sunlight appeared through the window, there was a knock on the door. She shuddered, but didn't move. She wanted the bed to swallow her anyway.

She heard Hank get up and pull some clothes on before answering the door.

'What's wrong?' he said.

The voice that answered was that of the Healer.

'About your friend. I have good news.' His tone was light, almost eager and Sheila breathed a silent sigh. At least one of them was alright. 'I'm pleased to tell you that she's gone.'

_She's gone?_

* * *


	11. Chapter 10 Lost Cause

Lost Cause

Once again, Hank and Bobby were sitting side by side, watching as the bustle of town life swept by without them. They were waiting in a small park, near to the main street and market, waiting for Sheila to return. "A quick walk"; that's what she'd said. She needed some space, she'd needed some peace. What she really meant was she needed a place to be alone, to cry.

Diana was gone. Literally "gone". the Healer had been unable to offer an explanation. They'd arrived at her room, and there was no Diana, no trace that she'd ever been there except for the Javelin. It was in his pocket, dormant; as if the glow it had was only in response to the presence of the Acrobat.

She was gone. Just… gone.

There were only the three of them. The three that so often ended up together; Sheila, Bobby and himself. But the close bond they'd shared all those times before was shattered. Sheila seemed to find it hard to be anywhere near him. And how Bobby hadn't figured out what was going on, he couldn't guess!

The Barbarian was sitting looking morosely down at the ground, kicking at random stones. Hank found it incredibly annoying.

'Hey Bobby!' he said at last. 'Why don't you go find Sheila? She's been quite a while.'

The Barbarian frowned, but nodded, seeming to take the hint.

'I'll make sure she's ok,' he said. There was a look on his face that made Hank regret sending him off. He was still missing Uni, and not knowing what had happened to her made the feeling worse. He knew how the Barbarian felt, he knew exactly.

He watched as Bobby disappeared into the town, then leaned back and closed his eyes. Thank God, he could get some peace!

'Greetings, Ranger.'

The old man was standing beside him, and Hank was suddenly very angry. But the look on the Dungeonmaster's face stopped him saying anything. The old man was angry too.

There was a long silence as they stared at each other. Hank spoke first.

'Diana's gone.'

The old man nodded, a stony look on his face.

'Indeed, Ranger. The Acrobat in no longer in the Realm.'

'Why?' he snapped. 'And where? Where is she? Is she safe? Is she…?'

He stopped as Dungeonmaster held up his hand.

'I cannot answer, Ranger. She is no longer in the Realm.'

Scowling, Hank turned away. The old man didn't seem to understand his frustration at all! There was silence again.

'So why are you here?' he asked eventually.

'Why are _you_?' was the reply.

Hank did react at this, ready to give him a short, pointed answer, but the look he got stopped him from talking. Dungeonmaster was furious.

'You have been here for more than two weeks!' he said, his voice breaking with restrained emotion. 'Why?'

'I don't know what else to do!' snapped Hank.

'You must find the Magician and the Cavalier!'

'How? I don't know!'

Their Guide look to the ground, his shoulders slumped. He looked old, far too old to be having an argument.

'I don't know what else to do,' Hank repeated, but more gently this time. 'I don't know where to start looking.'

'You are all still veiled from my sight,' said Dungeonmaster. 'But I need no magic to know that those two young men are in terrible danger.'

His heart lurched as if something had just punched him. Sheila had been saying for days that something bad had happened, and they should leave. But he couldn't bring himself to go on such a desperate wild goose chase; they had no idea where to start looking. Presto and Eric could conceivably be _anywhere_.

'How do you know?' he asked.

Dungeonmaster sat down beside him, but stared fixedly ahead at the town walls and the hills beyond.

'The Mirrors. Their power and influence is growing, every day. I can feel change; events are occurring that should not. Your Acrobat should not have had the power to leave. And you should have found your missing friends long before now. I had foreseen none of this happening, my magic was overwhelmed, and only the Mirrors can do that.

'And that is the danger. The more they are used, the more powerful they become. The more powerful they become, the more dangerous and addictive they are to use. They corrupt their user, infusing them with the evil, violent essence of their creator.'

Dungeonmaster turned to look at him.

'I am more convinced now that Venger wields one of these terrible artefacts. And he is your sworn enemy, Ranger. The Mirror will only feed the lust for revenge. Should either of your two friends fall into his hands… the consequences… would be…'

He bowed his head.

Hank was staring at the old man, hardly able to think straight. He'd known this was difficult, even desperate. He was cold inside. This was all one huge mistake, but he didn't know how he could have done anything differently.

Sitting beside the old man, he was silent, thinking about the others. Presto was a good friend, he'd always been there when Hank had needed him, especially after the Cloud Bears. Though the Magician often lacked confidence in himself, his staunch support of Hanks leadership was a great source of strength.

And Eric, their proud, infuriating, and irreplaceable Cavalier. But during their stay in the Realm, Eric had eventually proved his worth as a part of the team, especially since the Grotto of Darkness. And Hank now considered him a good friend.

'Dungeonmaster? I don't know what to do,' he said at last.

The admission was a bitter one, but if anyone could help, the old man could.

'I can suggest only one thing,' their guide replied. 'Seek out the one who started you on this path, seek out the Seer, for it was on her advice that you entered the Orc camp. She may be able to help you. I am sorry. I cannot offer anything more.'

Hank turned to reply, but Dungeonmaster had gone.

He sat pondering the words of their Guide. It was good, reasonable advice, and despite tense conversation, he was glad the old man was still trying to help them.

There was movement, and Bobby suddenly came running round the corner. Hank stood, filled with resolve. They would go back the way they'd come and ask the Seer for help. He smiled, at least Sheila would be glad they were actually going to do somethi…

The Thief had just appeared round the corner after her brother, there was a look on her face he hadn't seen for weeks. _My God! _

Someone else was with Sheila. He could hardly believe his eyes.

'Oh my God!' he whispered.

It was Presto.

* * *

Venger stood watching the Mirror as the Magician was greeted by his friends, but his interest quickly waned once he was sure the Ranger did not suspect anything amiss. 

Instead he waited, contemplating all that he had seen, and thinking once again of the last Young One; that Cavalier.

He had seen him through the Mirror, though only for an instant. And that made Venger glad, as now he knew that the weapon and its wielder were still out there, somewhere. But more than that, he now knew who he was playing against, for waiting behind that shattered and exhausted young man was the weasel-face Seer.

His first instinct was to send four battalions of Orcs to her fortress to destroy her and take her Mirror, but in a colder, more rational time (away from his Mirror), he had realised she was an important player. She had manipulated the old man into sending the children to her in the first place. She had managed to get her hands on one of the weapons. She had obviously planned this thoroughly. But she had forced the Cavalier to look in her Mirror, and that was her mistake.

She controlled its power, she must have had it in her possession for a long time to be able to fool the old man. He would never have sent the children to her, if he'd known. But the Cavalier was a novice. He'd had no idea what would happen. The control slipped, and they glimpsed each other, letting the Seer's secret out on the process. Now he had a huge advantage over the woman. He was not going to throw that away for the fleeting pleasure of killing her!

He had to know more. He wanted to know what would happen.

Venger now concentrated on the Cavalier, willing the Mirror to show him something of the boy's potential future. It was not something he had tried before. The Mirror was powerful, but temperamental and forcing it to his will required great effort, especially since it mean interfering with another Mirror.

Though shaking with effore, his resolved proved strong enough, andhe was rewarded with a single image.

_The young man stood in a dimly-lit room; a room that, much to his surprise, Venger recognised. The Cavalier looked exhausted, barely able to stand. Whatever had happened there seemed to have drawn the life out the boy, as he stared impassively into the goblet he was holding (a goblet that Venger also recognised). Then the boy lifted it to his lips and drank._

That was all.

Drained of a considerable about of energy, Venger stood back from the Mirror. Nevertheless, he smiled.

'Shadow Demon!' he called. 'Bring me the Drow!'

* * *


	12. Chapter 11 Small Stones

Chapter 11

Small Stones

It seemed strange to the Ranger that they had returned, that they were finally here.

The tavern they were in had already closed, as it was late in the evening, but the owner had let them stay up to finish their dinner. They had walked for three days straight, with next to no rest; the moons had been bright, and Hank had forced them to keep going, sometimes until after midnight.

Now, they were here, back in the small town they had visited only a few weeks ago. Before, they had seen the Seer in her pretty little cottage near the centre and sought her advice; and it was a devastating blow to find her home boarded up.

The Seer had gone.

The despair was almost a physical thing. Hank's heart had dropped in a terrible, but familiar, way; the look on Sheila's face was almost as bad. The implicit accusation was there, that if they had gone sooner, or moved faster, they would have been in time to find her and ask for her help.

They had struggled to an Inn, and begged for room and food in exchange for some work. The Innkeeper had taken pity on them, or maybe he had recognised them from last time, Hank wasn't sure. But the man had provided them with some basic food and a room to share. It didn't seem like there was much work to do. The tavern, like the rest of the town was unnaturally quiet.

When asked, the Innkeeper had told them about the Seer; that she had left a few days after they had. Though he didn't know where, it was likely she had gone into the hills. It was rumoured she had a small castle there, steeped in strong magic, and she went there for "inspiration". Hank wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, and he knew they would have to follow. But for now, it was a relief that they were safe and well fed, for once.

Tonight, the others were very quiet, exhaustion taking its toll. Bobby was virtually asleep in his stew, and Sheila wasn't much better. Only Presto looked alert enough to have a conversation.

Looking at the Magician now, over the remains of dinner, the Ranger suppressed a little shudder. There was something in his eyes that Hank didn't understand. It made him feel _uneasy_. In the days since his reappearance, there was a curious emptiness about Presto. It didn't help that he had been unable to explain exactly what had happened while he was missing. Hank knew there was something he didn't want to tell them.

And he'd had nightmares.

There hadn't been a night without them. Sometimes, he just tossed and turned in his sleep, as if struggling against some unseen force. But sometimes he would wake gasping for breath, paler than the moons' light with his hair matted to his forehead. After those nights, he would refuse to go back to sleep.

Then there was the way he went deathly quiet whenever Eric was mentioned.

_Eric…_ In spite of their fears, Hank couldn't quite make himself believe their Cavalier was dead.

Sheila certainly didn't, she had a confidence that seemed to spill over to the others as well. She and Eric had a strange sort of friendship; after the Citadel of Shadow, Hank had been worried that Sheila was starting to like the Cavalier a little too much. Though Eric had flirted shameless at Diana (who'd ignored him) it had always been obvious that Eric adored Sheila, maybe mistaking Sheila's innate kindness for genuine affection.

Looking back, Hank felt foolish for being jealous of the Cavalier. He'd seen the little looks Eric gave her when he thought no one was watching. It was the reason why Eric had hated Hank so much, and why he'd gainsayed his orders as often as possible. But as Hank and Sheila grew closer, Eric had seemed to accept that he'd been beaten, the arguments grew less frequent and bitter; but he still carried a torch for her, and she still showed him the same level of affection. She cared about him, and she wasn't going to give up hope.

Watching Sheila now, her eyes half-closed and her head resting against her hand, Hank smiled, not wanting to look away. Their first time together wasn't exactly perfect, but it hadn't been a total disaster. They hadn't talked about _it_, but she seemed to be ok again. She still smiled at him in the same, loving way. She still walked next to him during the day, her shoulder pressed against his arm. Lost in warm thoughts, Hank continued to watch her.

But slowly, the Ranger became aware that Presto was staring him. The Magician had red-tinged eyes and looked exhausted, but still he had a hard, fixed glare on his face. A sudden though came to Hank, _he's too scared to go to sleep._

Presto had always bee there to help him through the difficult times, he'd helped him after the Cloud Bears, he'd believed in him, that he was a good enough leader to get them all home. But after all that they had shared, still Hank couldn't find a way of helping the Magician now, when he really needed it.

They looked at each other, but Hank found he couldn't hold Presto's gaze for more than a few seconds. For once, he couldn't think of anything to say.

'Are we going to follow her, Hank?' Sheila asked.

The sound of her voice made the Ranger jump. The Thief was looking at him hopefully.

'We'll follow her,' Hank replied with a small nod. 'I don't know how long it will take. We'll leave at dawn.' That was only in a few hours time.

It was obvious they were all exhausted and disheartened, as that small exchange was the only time they had talked for the whole evening. Sheila nodded in understanding, then carefully helped Bobby to his feet.

Presto made no move to follow, just looked after them with an empty stare. Hank shuddered.

'Presto…?'

The Magician turned back to face him, the mask of indifference back on his face. Hank looked at him with a terrible, lost feeling inside, then he said:

'If you want to talk to me, Presto…'

For a moment, Hank thought the Magician would reply; what looked like tears were welling up in his eyes. But instead, Presto glanced away.

'Thanks, Hank,' he whispered. 'Just need to get some, some… sleep.'

Helplessly, the Ranger watched as his friend stood up, and stumbled off to bed.

* * *

_Sleeping. _

_He knows he's sleeping and he could wake up any time he wanted to. It's only a dream…_

Though it is dark, this is still a familiar place for Presto. He can see it clearly, as if he is really there, back in the main hall of Venger's Castle. Back where it all began.

Venger stands in front of him, taller than before; more evil than before. Every time Presto sees him, he notices the changes. The skin gets whiter, and the eyes darker, with an implacable hunger in them that Presto is afraid of.

Venger is standing very close, and looks down at him. Inside him, somewhere he couldn't identify with any certainty, the Creature squirms. Sickness builds in the back of Presto's throat as it grates against his ribs and stomach.

_Please let me wake up soon…_

The force of Venger's stare makes him finally go down on one knee before his Master. It is what the Arch-Mage was waiting for.

'Magician,' he says. 'What do you have to tell me?'

Presto tries not to speak, though he knows that his reticence will only make the Arch-Mage angrier.

'You will tell me.'

He feels the air being crushed out of his body as Venger watches. The thing inside writhes with more force; it hurts, but Presto can't cry out.

_Please let me wake up soon…_

Though he doesn't want to, he mumbles out the name of the village. Venger stares at him, the brutal anger in his eyes burning brighter.

The Arch-Mage knows, without being told more, who they are looking for.

'No!' snarls Venger. 'No! You shall not go to _her_!'

It is a Command; one that the Creature inside him has heard and understood, and it will force him to obey.

'But, I can't stop…'

'_NO_!'

The clawed hand swoops down toward him. Terrified, Presto covers his face, the blood pounding through his head.

_Please let me wake up soon…_

But The Arch-Mage does not strike him. It takes Presto a few moments to realise he is unharmed, and looks up. Venger has stepped back, and turned away.

'You _will not_ disturb the Seer in her Fortress,' repeats Venger, in a calmer, more rational voice.

'But Dungeonmaster told Hank to find her. I can't stop him.'

'You _will_ find a way. Remember our agreement…'

Memories suddenly echo around the vaulted room; _'I will vow, before my Master, that I will see no harm come to those you see before you.'_

This was the price of their freedom, and their safety. He had no choice.

'Yes,' he mumbles.

Presto lets his eyes close for a few moments.

When he opens them again, he is in a different place, though still within Venger's castle. He is standing beside the Arch-Mage on a high balcony, looking down to the courtyard below. It is full of Orcs, lizardmen and bullywugs, and other foul creatures that Presto doesn't recognise. As he looks further, he sees that the valley beyond is full of the movement and activity of a camp, with more creatures that are too far away to make out.

He stands looking out over the multitudes for a long while, the cold, empty feeling of despair growing all the time. Presto has never seen so many Dark creatures in one place before, and the feeling of evil rolls out of the camp in thick waves. It is a huge force, one that would most likely crush anything that tried to stand in its way. Not even Dungeonmaster could stand up against an army like that one. This was obviously something that Venger wanted him to see.

'This is my Army,' says Venger quietly.

There is another long silence, as Presto struggles to find something to say.

'All… of it…?'

Venger doesn't reply. He doesn't need to.

_Please let me wake up soon…_

'What's it for?'

He knows it's a stupid question. It's for destruction, plain and simple.

Venger looks down at him, his eyebrow curved upwards in that sarcastic, annoying way that reminds Presto of the Cavalier.

'I must be ready for War.'

Venger continues to stare at him, and the Magician starts to shake. He is shaking all the way through to his heart and soul. He wants to scream.

_Please let me wake up soon… Please let me wake up soon…please…please… please…_

* * *


	13. Chapter 12 Fragile Peace

Chapter 12

Fragile Peace

Nothing he tried had worked, and Presto was getting desperate.

He'd lost track of time; six, seven eight days in the wilds and now they were virtually at the gates of the Fortress. But all he had done was delay them. It wasn't enough. Venger was going to kill them all. _It wasn't enough._

He'd tried everything he could think of.

It wasn't as if he needed to fake illness, everybody knew that something was wrong, anyway. But when he'd suggested he was too sick to travel, all Hank had said was that he could stay, perhaps with Sheila. Knowing the fury of his Master if he let Hank continue, especially _alone_, Presto had been forced to go with them.

He was slow, and tried to slow them down further, but the Ranger was a in an uncompromising mood. Dungeonmaster had told him what to do and nothing was going to stop him. He forced them on, regardless of Presto, and regardless of anything else.

Late one evening a few days after they had gone into the mountains, and after the two siblings were asleep, Hank had come over to him and asked his forgiveness. Presto felt sick at the memory. The Ranger had sat beside him, his voice choked full of emotion and apologised for driving them on, in spite of Presto's obvious weakness. And if that wasn't bad enough, Presto had _accepted_ the apology as if it was the Ranger that was in the wrong. Hank had spoken of Eric, and how they had to keep looking, and how they had to find him before Venger did. Hank wouldn't stop until they found him.

But Presto knew. He remembered the Mirror; that bitter and painful day he had stood before the Mirror, shouting Eric's name. And he'd seen nothing. Eric was gone.

That night was the closest he had come to confessing the whole truth, no matter what the consequences were. Hank had looked so earnest, and so desperately unhappy, that Presto could hardly stand it. The sickness inside him was nothing compared to the crushing guilt he felt every time he looked in Hank's eyes.

The Magician had sensed the implacable resolve in Hank. He was not going to abandon one of his friends, under any circumstances. They had lost Diana already, and Eric was not going to be left behind.

As Hank had put his hand on his shoulder, one last time, Presto had hesitated, and the creature inside fought to keep him quiet. It had lasted for only a moment. Then the chance was gone; Hank left him to sleep. He'd said nothing; the creature had won.

The Magician had not dreamt of Venger during their trip at all, and that was the only thing he was glad about. It was doubtful that he could have stood seeing the Arch-Mage again so soon, in his current condition. Besides, the creature inside knew what it had to do without further interference from its Master. But still, every night, he anticipated a dream, and now not having one started to worry him. He didn't know what Venger was planning, and the not-knowing left him feeling helpless, and impossibly alone. There was a Dark Army, massing somewhere close by. And Hank and the others were being led towards a trap.

He could feel it; perhaps thanks to the influence of the creature, he understood that they were all in very great danger from Venger. Though he didn't know how, or when, he could make a shrewd guess. He had betrayed them all once before, the Arch-Mage knew exactly what they were doing and where they were going. And when the time was ripe, Venger would make him do it again. When that happened, it was going to tear Hank apart.

Knowing that, and knowing he had no way to stop it, with every passing moment he grew weaker and the creature grew stronger for it.

Now, as in the days before, the closer they came to the Seer's Fortress, the more acute the pain became. It was harder to breathe. Every time he filled his lungs, it felt as through great steel bands were crushing him. He couldn't eat; he could barely stomach a small cup of water.

Every day, every hour, every minute they had come closer to her Fortress, and he couldn't stop them. Sheila was by his side, to help him walk against the buffeting winds. Everything was blurred.

He had failed.

Then, suddenly, and unexpectedly, they were outside the large, black gates of the Fortress, and the pounding pain was gone. The creature didn't move, and neither did Presto.

Hank knocked. They waited.

After only a few seconds, the door swung open. A tall, dark-haired man was standing there, watching them with a sad, regretful expression on his face. It was the expression that made Presto stare. _It was almost as it he knew them…_

The creature squirmed and kicked suddenly inside him. _I'm going to throw up, oh God. _But the man didn't move forward, merely stepped back to let them enter.

The Fortress was smaller than it looked from the outside, and had a very hollow, unlived in feel to it. They were in a tiny courtyard that had long grasses poking through the paving stones, with mud caked over the edges. The surrounding buildings were mostly boarded up, except the middle one, where there was a tiny light visible through the open door. A thin line of smoke came from the chimney at the top, filling the air with an acrid smell that made him want to cough, and there was a low on the wailing wind, as if someone was crying. To his left was a narrow tower, with a few tiny, thin windows. Presto stared at it for a few seconds, feeling uneasy again. There was something about the tower that the creature didn't like.

But for all the austerity of the buildings, there was something else about this place that the Magician didn't like. It made him feel extraordinarily uncomfortable. It wasn't anything to do with the creature inside him; perhaps it was magic, perhaps it was something else, he didn't know. But something here was Evil.

The courtyard was empty, but for the man who had opened the gate. From before, Presto knew that the Seer didn't stand on ceremony, she had few servants or retainers, and liked the simple life. Thinking of that made Presto frown. It seemed odd now, but he couldn't decide why.

Movement from the open doorway made him start, and he heard Hank's quiet sigh of relief. The Seer was at the Fortress after all.

Inside him, the creature stirred cautiously, not causing him pain, but it moved warily as if it was afraid of the woman standing before them.

She addressed her servant first.

'Ranyar, you may leave us.'

He bowed, and turned away, that same, troubled look on his face as before.

'Greetings, young Adventurers,' said the Seer. She looked keenly at Hank, and only at Hank. Now they were here, the Ranger suddenly didn't seem very pleased about it.

'Dungeonmaster said to visit you once again and…'

The Seer held up her hand.

'I know what you search for, Ranger, I can see sorrow etched over your faces.'

'Can you help us?' His voice wobbled slightly as he spoke. Presto had no idea Hank was so close to breaking down; and it made him feel all the worse.

Presto didn't like the smile she gave them in reply, and neither did the creature inside him, it didn't move at all and was like a lump of lead in him stomach. He had to get out of there as quickly as possible.

'I can give you little information, young Adventurers,' she said. 'For weeks, since we last met, my Sight has been failing. It all becomes dark.'

The anguish from Hank and Sheila was almost overwhelming. Bobby had tears in his eyes, not all for Eric, but also for his beloved unicorn.

For a moment, Presto's attention was draw to the dark tower behind her, the feeling of danger and fear all the more powerful. He had to get out of there!

The smile of the Seer widened, her top lip curling upwards. She looked at him, _directly_ at him, and the creature inside went still and cold. Presto had to suppress a shudder.

'I know you are in pain,' she said. 'I know why you suffer.'

It seemed as though she was talking to him directly. _She couldn't know. She couldn't see what Venger had done, and what he had had to do for the others? She couldn't know his secret. Could she?_

'I can make no promises,' she said at last. 'Go north, high into the mountains. They you may find that which you seek.'

She started to turn away.

'We have travelled for days,' started Hank, even though he hated having to beg for food, they didn't have much of a choice this time. 'Is there any chance that you could…'

'No,' she said abruptly.

This surprised Hank, and Presto too. Before, they had barely been able to get away from her!

'I'm sorry, but I have nothing here for you. This Fortress is all but abandoned, and I cannot not stay more than one more night.'

The conversation was over. The Seer walked away, back through the door.

_That was it?_ They had walked for days to speak to her, and it was all over in a few minutes? Her servant, Ranyar, stepped out of the shadows and ushered them towards the gate. Sheila put her arm round her brother, and led him onwards. Hank had his eyes closed, perhaps trying to pull himself together enough to go on. It was almost impossible. They'd used almost all of their food and water. They had little chance of going anywhere but back to the village they came from. It would take another two weeks at least before they could get back here, to start looking further. It was hopeless, and Hank, Sheila and Bobby all knew it too.

As they walked out of the gate, he thought he heard a low, pained cry from somewhere close by, and he almost turned. But the creature squirmed, sending a wave a nausea through him that made him stagger. It was all he could do to get to the Gate without being sick.

None of them looked back.

* * *


	14. Chapter 13 Endless Nights

Chapter 13

Endless Nights

It had been the same every day for weeks. Ever since the day he'd arrived.

Eric had been pulled from his ramshackle bed, and a deep sleep, hours before dawn and dragged out into the cold. He'd dressed, and been give in tiny lump of bread, then they'd taken him down to the Dungeons, and he'd been put to work. Digging, building, moving, whatever needed done; and it was usually the hardest and nastiest work around. The Dungeons of the Fortress were vast already, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to be doing, but fear of the whip, and the desperate need for food and fresh water curbed his natural desire to argue.

Ranyar was there each day, and a few rough-looking men that he didn't recognise and never talked to. He had only seen the Seer three times since that first day, all of them in passing. She hadn't even acknowledged his presence, and for some totally inexplicable reason, that had hurt Eric's feelings very deeply.

Often, he worked all day until he was dropping from exhaustion, only to be taken back to the cell and left to sleep the few hours until dawn. But occasionally, he was taken to another part of the Fortress to help repair the fortifications. Those days had only been better because he cold breathe in the fresher air of the mountains, rather than the decayed, dead air below.

Every day, it was the same: Laborious, painful, often nauseating work, almost no food; almost no sleep.

And so it had been every day for weeks.

Except today.

Today, they had left him to sleep.

Eric slept well into the morning. And when he did wake, he woke with a fearful start. Nothing was happening. He couldn't hear any noises, or any voices anywhere; and instead of darkness, there was a thin shaft of grey light coming in from the window.

He struggled out of bed, pulled his clothes on, and waited. It was almost as if the whole place was dead and empty. He paced the cell like a hungry animal, searching it again and again to try and find a way out, pausing to listen at the door. His room had only one, tiny, narrow window, and it looked out onto the courtyard, and though he could only see a small fraction of what was below, he watched for long enough to be sure no one was there.

Eric hated this, more so than working in the Dungeons. At least he had the promise of food, of some sort. At least he knew they hadn't forgotten about him, or decided he was too much trouble and left him to starve.

Panic came and went. Over the weeks since he'd lost the others, the bouts of panic became less and less frequent. Since he'd been imprisoned by the Seer, he had taken a small comfort from the fact that she had put a lot of effort into ensuring his capture. He had to have some sort of value. She wasn't going to let that all that go to waste. At least, he hoped not.

For nearly six hours, the Cavalier waited.

At last, he heard the distinctive creak of the gate being pulled open, and he moving to the window, craning his neck to try and see what was happening. And the first thing he saw was Sheila.

The Thief had never made his heart lurch like _that_ before, and he cried out her name as loudly as he could. She was so beautiful, he'd never seen anything like it. Nothing ever before or after made his feel so joyful, or so hopeful. But the exquisite high from the thought of rescue was short lived.

The Thief paid no attention to his cries, and he realised she couldn't hear him. The others appeared, one by one, Hank, Bobby, Presto. But no Diana. And no Uni.

He called out their names, again and again, confused and plagued with questions.

_What were they doing here? Where was Diana? Had they found Uni? Why didn't they HELP HIM!!_

None of his friends reacted to his voice, or any of the noise he made. Frustrated and with a growing fear, Eric cried out desperately, trying anything he could think of to attract their attention. But his voice was growing hoarse and quieter.

As the group stood in the courtyard, and Eric only had a clear view of Presto. The Magician looked terrible, almost as grey as the Fortress Walls. Though he hadn't seen the Mirror since that day, he could remember the images clearly. The last thing he's see was Presto at the edge of despair. And seeing him now in person, it was obvious that something was very wrong with the Magician. He looked injured, or ill. Or worse.

Presto turned to look up blankly towards the tower. Eric waved and cried out frantically. Hope flooded through the Cavalier once again, but only for a sweet second.

Presto didn't see him.

_C'mon guys! I'm here I'm in here! For God's sake I'm HERE!!_

But they stayed in the courtyard. Nothing worked; shouting, screaming, banging on the window. They were oblivious to his presence.

_They're going to leave without me._

The realisation made him cry. They were so very close, and they weren't gonna help him. For all the screaming and scratching, nothing worked.

Sure enough, after only a very few, precious and optimistic minutes, the Magician and the others turned back towards the gate.

Choked with tears, Eric shouted out their names one more time. He caught a final glance of Presto and, at that moment, seeing the look on his face, he didn't know who he felt sorrier for; the Magician or himself.

Then they were gone.

He sank to the floor, covering his eyes with his hand as he cried. Hours passed, perhaps, and the pain was incomparable. They had gone without him. Nothing had prepared him for that level of loss. _They left without him…they had been within a few feet…they left without him…they left without him…_

'Cavalier,' said a voice. It was Ranyar. The man was standing in the doorway, looking impassively down him. Eric hadn't even heard the door open.

'They were here,' Eric found himself saying between sobs. 'They were here and they left without me. Oh God, they left me here.'

There was movement behind Ranyar, and another man came in carrying a tray of food. Smoked salmon and caviar had never looked as good as that plate of salted meat, dried fruit and a small lump of bread. It was a feast!

He stared at it, open-mouthed, as it was placed on his bed. It was more food than he'd been given at all in this place. More food than he'd had for weeks. He was starving. But not even the food could make him forget: _they'd been so close and ..._

'I'll watch him,' said Ranyar told the man. 'You may leave.'

Sniffing, Eric moved to the bed, and the food. Not caring what Ranyar thought, he started to eat, not bothering to savour the taste, but just suddenly and desperately hungry. He would have eaten almost anything he was given, and he concentrated on the food, trying in vain to block out the memories of the day.

Ranyar didn't speak for a long while, just watched him.

Eric didn't mind. Though the circumstances of their first meeting were unpleasant, Ranyar was a fair-minded man. He had always kept a close eye on the Cavalier, and occasionally they had talked, mostly about small, insignificant things, but still, it was a companionship that Eric had come to value. Odd, how the man who'd captured him for the Seer had become the closest thing to a friend.

The pain at the thought of the word friends made him choke slightly. He reached out for the jug of water, only to find it was fortified wine.

The Cavalier didn't hesitate. He had to block out the images of the others. Wine would do well enough.

Ranyar said nothing while Eric ate and drank. After a short while, he moved to the window to look out at the view, his back half-turned to the Cavalier. But Eric knew better than to try and get out. Ranyar had showed him some small mercy, but he was still a servant of the Seer. he wouldn't cross her; no one dared.

After licking the crumbs off the plate and finishing the wine, Eric sat back, feeling woozy. His body didn't know what to do with all that food, and he was starting to feel more than a little ill. And downing the wine hadn't helped matters. But he was beyond caring at that point. Hopefully, within a few minutes he would just pass out, and he could forget everything for a few hours. But before that, he wanted some answers, and the wine had made him bolder.

'What's goin' on?' he said with a distinct slur.

Ranyar looked at him, a heavy frown on his face.

'At dawn, you will be leaving,' he told him.

'Leaving?' Eric wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

Ranyar nodded.

'You and my Mistress are to leave. You must be ready.'

A suite of possibilities passed through Eric's mind, most of them concerned with escape. The others were still near. It was the best opportunity he'd have; if he could hold himself together for long enough.

'Where're we going?' he asked eventually.

Ranyar shrugged in reply. Either he didn't know or didn't want to say. Eric suspected the former; the Seer would not give out any information unless it was vital. But though he had no joy in his heart, Eric smiled.

'I suppose anywhere is better than here.'

For the first time in the conversation, Ranyar looked him in the eye for a second, and Eric felt a wave of fear from the other man. Then Ranyar turned, collected the tray, and walked towards the door.

'I wouldn't be sure of that, Cavalier.'

* * *

Venger sat before his Mirror, head bowed, waiting. 

He had watched them as they walked away from the Fortress, heading north to the hill. The Ranger was in front once again, and had no intention of slowing, or turning back. The Thief and the Barbarian following silently behind. Last of all came the Magician, bowed down with guilt.

For a few moments, as he'd watched them, the Mirror was alive with life and colour and malice. Everything was in place. He would only need to wait a few more days until they arrived. Just a few more days, then his revenge on the Old Man would be complete.

A quiet noise from his side roused him for the stupor, and he turned sluggishly away from the Mirror, black anger building in his chest. But it evaporated in an instant.

Before him knelt the Drow Priestess. And in her hands, on a soft satin pillow, was the Goblet.

It had been over ten centuries since he'd seen it and used it; the goblet was as perfect and unblemished now as it had been then almost a thousand years ago. The ornate handles and cup, the tapered base and thick rim. It was a beautiful artefact.

A cruel, curved smirk spread over his face. How the Elves must have fought for this, to keep it safe in their hallowed halls under ground. How they must have died! Perhaps the Drow had slaughtered thousands of their mortal enemies to get it for him.

But that was of no consequence.

The pieces were converging. All his schemes were bearing fruit.

Only a few more days, and they would be here: and with them, his revenge.

* * *


	15. Chapter 14 Lost Opportunity

* * *

Chapter 14

Lost Opportunity

Sheila awoke to the sound of crying.

Not normal, human crying, but a plaintive, grating whine that when straight through her head leaving discordant echoes in its wake.

But when she opened her eyes, there was nothing unusual anywhere. The others were still asleep as well, as if they couldn't hear it. But the noise continued, making her head hurt. She sat with her head in her hands, rocking slowly back and forth. Part of her wanted to scream, another part wanted to be sick. That noise was so full of pain and longing and cold, paralysing _fear_ that she would have done almost anything to stop it.

But she didn't there was something familiar about it. The changing pitch, the tone beyond the fear. What was it? She had to know. She _did_ know!

Her breath caught in her throat. _It was Uni!_

She almost shouted out, but then came the sudden fear that she as wrong. She couldn't put her brother through that, not after everything they been through. What was she going to do?

For a moment, she looked round at the three others as they slept. Once there had been six others. But now, Diana was gone. Eric was gone. And Uni too. She had a chance to find one of them, somehow she had to take it.

As quietly as she could, she pushed herself up, ignoring the wave of tiredness and hunger. Maybe she was dreaming it. It was just a figment of her imagination, as she'd pushed herself almost as far as her physical and emotional strength could take her. They had to turn back today. They had no choice, they were out of food with next to no chance of getting any. Presto's Hat…

The thought of the Magician mad her shudder. He was the worst of all of them. How he even managed to stand up in the morning was beyond her comprehension. She had to do something to help.

She could. She could find Uni.

With one more glance at the others, she turned away. _Help me, Uni, _she thought. _Help me find you. Please._

* * *

For the most part of his journey, Eric had slept. It surprised him that, being so close to the bitch Seer, and so close to her Mirror as well, he could find any sort of peace. But he was more tired than he'd expected to be, and the constant swaying of the carriage lulled him into a dreamless stupor, so much so that he could only remember fragments of the journey.

For the most part, the Seer had ignored him, much to the annoyance of his pride. When she did speak to him, it was often to say some small, offhand comment.

From what he could remember, she had been excited, with the sense of anticipation growing every passing moment.

Throughout the journey, he'd had burned with the desire to escape, but he couldn't. Before they'd left the Fortress she'd looked at him, and ordered him to stay with her as they travelled and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't disobey. He was furious at himself for his weakness. He'd never done what he was told before with such willingness; even his own Father had to use bribery to get him to cooperate!

There had been times when he had expected overmastering fear to overwhelm him as it had done so many time before but instead there was just the same emptiness he had grown so used to: Until the last few miles of their journey when he had realised exactly _where_ they were going, that is.

He'd thought is couldn't get any worse, not knowing how wrong could he be!

_A means to and end_, that was all he was, he knew. This woman, this Seer, was going to use him as a bargaining chip. He had no idea what she wanted but that didn't particularly matter.

The Castle came closer, and Eric started to feel sick. _A means to an end._

As the carriage stopped, and the door opened, he found he could barely stand up. _A means to an end_…

They were outside Venger's Castle. This is what she had planned all along.

The terrible, forsaken feeling he'd felt back at the Seer's Fortress returned full force. The others had been so close to helping, but they'd left him. They left him to Venger!

The image of the Arch-Mage as he'd seen him through the Mirror, came back to the Cavalier. And his sick feeling suddenly got worse.

Something was wrong.

He glanced to his side, at the woman who walked beside him, her head held high. She was insane for just walking in to his Castle like this, no defences, nothing but a prisoner, a Mirror and a couple of henchmen. Venger wasn't gonna stand for this, not in a billion years!

But they just walked straight in, through the main gate, and were shown immediately to Venger's Hall, as if they had been expected.

As they entered, the Arch-Mage stood, and bowed to the Seer. Eric swallowed the rising sickness in the back of his throat. This was not going to go well.

'I have come for my reward, Venger,' she said proudly.

Venger nodded, but instead of looking at her, he was looking past her to the covered Mirror just behind.

Eric knew all about danger, he had always had an excellent sense of self-preservation, but he couldn't move. He felt to overwhelming urge to run, but he didn't. Now he was here, he was going to have to stay until the bitterest end.

The Seer gestured to the Cavalier.

'I have found your missing child, and the missing weapon.'

To his right, a man brought the Shield, his Shield, forward and placed in on the floor in front of Venger.

'And what is it that you wish in return, Seer?' Venger sounded resigned to his fate.

'I wish for power.'

Venger's expression didn't change. _We're all dead!_ thought Eric.

There was a long, heavy silence in the Hall as they waited. Eric could sense the Seer's growing impatience.

Finally Venger rose. There was no glee or emotions as he raised his right hand, burning fire at his fingertips.

'No.'

He would have moved, but Eric was frozen in place with shock. Venger was staring at the Seer, pitiless and full of incredible power. She suddenly seemed to realise her mistake, but it was far too late.

Against his will, Eric started to tremble. _Oh, God, someone help_…

* * *

Venger looked at the woman, so proud and sure; her head held high and an arrogant smirk on her lips.

Under other circumstances, he might have lingered, he would have taken great pleasure in devising a fitting end to such insolence. But the time for finesse was over. His long wait was over.

And so, he had to be sure.

He flicked his hand and a fireball erupted from his fingertips. She was gone in an instant, leaving only an echoing scream and a charred pile of bones in her wake.

Only after the Seer was destroyed did he acknowledge his new prisoner.

* * *

She opened her eyes. It was dark.

Voices: _I think there's still something here; the noise hasn't stopped; better be quick._

It was dark when she reopened her eyes, but with pinpoints of light, like dancing stars.

But this time there were noises she didn't recognise. _Or maybe she did. _Loud, crunching noises, metal on metal and metal on stone.

She tried to call out, but there was something stopping her, a crushing weight on her chest, and pain all over her body.

'_Watch yourself, the joist's gone!'_

'_Can you still see it?'_

'_Where's that godamn crane!' _

'_Were running out of time, this whole place is gonna go!'_

'_Where's the paramedic? We've got one!'_

It was a dream. Surely it was a dream. Suddenly the pressure lifted off her chest, and there was a blinding light all around. Far behind, inside the light, someone cheered. For a few seconds she blinked at the light, the fuzzy shapes slowly forming some sort of focal point.

Then Diana saw.

And Diana screamed.

* * *


	16. Chapter 15 First Strike

Chapter 15

First Strike

Presto was sleeping, he was dreaming. Properly, his mind at rest. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be so peaceful and relaxed.

Since they had left the Seer's Castle, the creature seemed to have been sleeping, as if Venger had forgotten about it, or had found something more interesting to occupy his attention.

So the Magician had felt calmer and stronger. He had begun to gain some sort of control again, he'd been able to eat a little, and drink water without needing to be sick.

He was aware it was morning, and as he slept, he'd dreamed of the Dark Tower; the black imposing Castle of Venger, and also of the Seer's Fortress, as one became the other. He watched the shape change until he couldn't tell which was which. Then he walked forward, looking to see what had changed, and it was almost as though he was drifting though the walls.

At last he came back to the courtyard of the Fortress, and this time he could hear crying, he could hear someone calling out him name. _He'd been there. He'd heard… what had he heard?_

The answer was just around the next corner; the answer was so close he could virtually touch it. He knew… he knew…

But he couldn't concentrate. There was more noise, from somewhere outside. And the noise grew; the closer he came to the truth in his dream the louder it became. It was shouting, and it was far away, but whoever it was wouldn't shut up.

The noise grew louder still and more insistent, driving him towards consciousness.

The instant he awoke, the shouting snapped into sharp focus. Hank and Bobby were bellowing at each other; in fact his ears hurt so much he could hardly believe he had slept through most of it!

He looked around blearily, his head still heavy with sleep, trying to block out the words. But he knew instantly what was wrong: Sheila was missing.

No wonder they were arguing!

Bobby was ready to go charging off in an instant but Hank, though no less worried, was trying to restrain him.

It wasn't going to work.

It was all coming apart! Sheila was gone. Bobby was going to follow. Hank was unable to stop him.

Presto tried to concentrate on the two boys in front of him, red-faced and furious, but he couldn't. There was something he'd missed, something that tey had all missed and it was something of vital importance. Something that his dream had tried to tell him.

There was only one thing he could think of doing. They had to go back to the Seer's Fortress; if she had been telling the truth, she wouldn't be there anyway. And they had to find out what was in that Tower. He realised now that the Creature inside him was afraid of it. Perhaps the Creature knew what it was!

It had tried to stop him from finding out, but now it was sleeping or hiding he couldn't ignore the feeling. He hated the Creature, and if it had wanted to stop him from doing something, or finding something then that was precisely what he had to find out when he could!

_We have to go back!_

He didn't even realise he'd said it out loud, not until both Bobby and Hank stopped mid sentence to stare at him, open-mouthed.

The Ranger was the first to react.

'What the fuck are you talking about, Presto! Sheila's missing!'

'Yeah!' added Bobby. 'We've gotta find Shelia!'

Now united against someone else, their quarrel was forgotten for the moment.

'We're not going anywhere without Sheila!'

'But she's gone,' said Presto slowly, looking between his two remaining friends. 'What are we going to do? How are we going to find her? She's got a Cloak!'

'Haven't you been _listening_?' hissed Hank.

'But you don't know which way she went.'

'She can't have gone far.'

'But she could be anywhere.'

Hank gave him a dark look, and Presto realised that that wasn't the right thing to say, especially if he wanted Hank to cooperate.

'But… but we have to go back to the Seer's Fortress.'

He said it out loud. Now he thought about it clearly, the more important it was. They had to go back! They were just a day or so away, they had to get back there as fast as they possibly could. The Creature wasn't trying to stop him, but that didn't mean anything at the moment.

Impulsively, his hand went to the Hat. For the past few weeks, it had refused point blank to work for him. He'd tried every night, in secret. It was the Creature's influence, he knew. But now, had he twiddled his fingers of it, he felt the power surge back.

He looked up at the others, seeing the hostility mirrored on both of their faces, but they too were staring at the Hat in wonder.

Inside, the Creature stirred sluggishly in response to the Magic, but it didn't try to stop him. For a moment, Presto wondered why; and wondered what had managed to drag Venger's attention away from him, but he didn't linger on the thought.

'What's going on?' asked Hank. He sounded more worried than angry now.

They had to go back to the Fortress.

Somehow he had to persuade them.

* * *

_It was almost all gone._

Alone in a lonely, dark cave, the Dungeonmaster could barely move. It had taken virtually all of his powers to return to his safest abode, and to fortify it against evil. But even that might not be enough, if what he feared now came to pass.

There was nothing more he could do. He had to trust to hope; and that his pupils would manage to overcome their divisions and triumph over evil once more.

But the chances of that were slim, and growing more slender every day they were separated. The forces of Darkness that has finally risen against them were almost too powerful. And he feared the worst was yet to come.

He knew the Goblet had been taken; he had gone to the Golden Hall as fast as his ailing magic could take him. But he was too late. He was far, far too late to help. And in doing so, he had forsaken the hope of warning the other Young Ones and telling of its significance.

There was nothing else he could do to help them and if he did not protect himself, his powers would soon vanish forever.

He had made his choice, and now he had to live with the consequences.

He brought the remnants of his magic together in front of him, and let the power surround him and soak through his body and his soul, shielding him from everything outside.

Or almost everything.

As he drifted away from the Realm, in his mind's eye he could see the two remaining mirrors, side by side like two great eyes staring at him though the void of time and space. There was evil, mocking laughter that echoed though his head, the voice of someone he had not heard of for many, many years.

He knew who it was; he should have known from the very start.

It was too late to change anything.

Dungeonmaster closed his eyes for the final time, hoping that his messenger would get to the Ranger in time.

* * *


	17. Chapter 16 No Hope

Chapter 16

No hope

Now it came down to it, Sheila regretted not waking the others.

Stumbling to the ground, the Thief sat and watched for a few minutes, catching her breath and wondering what her next move should be.

She had been walking for hours, and she had gone much, much further than she had intended to go, and now she was completely alone and faced with an encampment of a small army of strange, vicious-looking Orcs.

Her mind was filled with questions, the most urgent of which was _what were these creatures doing here_!

The most obvious possibility was that they were sent by Venger to search for the Six of them, or what was left of the Six, anyway. But that didn't seem to be quite right. They weren't hunting, they hadn't even posted any guards.

They were going somewhere. And since she could see heavy armour, and long, bright spears and swords, it seemed reasonable to guess that they were going to war!

But there was no war around here. Not at the moment, anyway.

Her heart sank at the thought, and she knew that she should go and warn the others. That was what she should do, and that would have been what she would have done without hesitation but for one thing: The Thief was _absolutely_ certain that Uni was somewhere in or near the camp. And now she had come so far, she wasn't going to leave without Uni.

She didn't want to go in there, even with the protection of the Cloak. Once again she wished that she had woken Hank or Bobby, and she hadn't rushed off. It was too late to change her mind. The noise in her head, the pleading bleats were insistent, and she couldn't abandon her search for Uni now she was so close.

The Unicorn was in pain, and lost and miserable. There was no question of abandoning her. Besides, there was no guarantee that she would be able to find these Orcs again if she left now.

She had to take her chances.

Sheila crept as close as she dared, and her fear increased with every movement, watching the Orcs all the time, trying to see any easy openings. At first she had thought these creatures were Orcs, but now she came closer she realised that she'd been wrong. They were similar, they smelt just as bad as well, but the were taller and broader, and looked altogether more vicious. They were huddled together in small groups, all talking together in a strange, guttural language. Sheila didn't understand what they were saying, but it didn't sound good!

Her fear for the Unicorn grew sharply. Whatever she was going to do, she had to do it quickly!

Not waiting any longer, she moved forward again, taking great care to stay close to the sides of the encampment. The Orc-things were only resting for the moment, they hadn't made any attempt to make a proper camp. It was clear that they were not going to be in the one place for long and her resolve grew. She had to find Uni and she had to do it as fast as she could.

She still had no idea what to do, but she moved right up to the first group of the creatures. They didn't see her and just kept on talking and grunting at each other.

Her confidence grew a little stronger. She walked forward, as quietly as she could. It didn't make a great deal of difference, there was too much noise for her to be heard.

But she didn't take any chances. No matter what the urgency, she had to be careful. Getting caught was not part of her plan!

She picked her way slowly through the encampment, avoiding any points where there were large clusters of the Orc-things or a lot of movement.

It took her longer than she had anticipated, but fortunately her luck held and no one noticed her.

She was almost three quarters of the way round when something ahead attracted her attention. Though she didn't think that Uni was anywhere that way, her curiosity got the better of her and she edged forward to see what was going on.

What she saw made her blood run cold and her skin crawl.

There was a young boy, maybe the same age as her with dark brown hair. His face was bloodied by a broken nose, and the front of his shirt was torn and red with blood too. He was being held down to the ground by the Orc-things, who were laughing and pointing at him in a very unpleasant way. There was something so disgusting and twisted about the way those Orc-creatures were looking down at the boy that she was almost sick. She shuddered.

The bleating in her head had seemed to get more intense, but she couldn't turn aside now she had seen him. She couldn't leave the boy at the mercy of those horrible, cruel Orcs.

She couldn't turn aside.

Then one of them picked up a crude, wooden stick, and stepped towards the boy, and Sheila darted forward, not really thinking about what she was doing before she did it.

* * *

Hank waited in silence, a thunderous scowl on his face, not turning round. He stood near the entrance of the Seer's Fortress, staring out to the valley beyond, waiting as the other two searched. 

He was furious. He was more angry than he had ever been before in his life.

This was a stupid waste of time! This was the most ridiculous idea he'd ever heard of! Going back to the Fortress was the stupidest idea Presto had ever had, in a long line of stupid ideas!

He was furious at the Magician. He understood that Presto meant what he had said, and it had been a long, _long_ time since Presto had been so sure of anything.

It felt childish to have disagreed and to have had such and argument, but when Presto had pulled some sort of map out of the Hat and had announced he was going back with or without them, Hank had been forced to agree. Letting Presto go off on his own, back to the Seer's Fortress no less, was stupid. Presto was still ill, he wouldn't last more than ten minutes on his own!

He had tried to delay them as much as possible, but for all his stalling, Presto had eventually called his bluff and gone marching off through the countryside on his own.

He had been forced to go back to the Fortress and leave the Thief out there, alone. And she hated being alone.

He looked out over the bare landscape, thinking about her. _Sheila. _Hank longed to see her again. How could he bear being apart, knowing she was in danger? He had been forced to choose between Presto and Sheila, and since he didn't know where the Thief had gone, or how to find her, he had been forced to leave her behind.

Questions plagued him. And why had she left? Where had she gone? Why had she abandoned him? Was it because he'd hurt her? Or she didn't love him as he loved her and she could tell him? That didn't seem likely, but he had no other explanation for her sudden disappearance.

And what was going to happen when she returned to their camp to find that they had gone! What was she going to think then!

He didn't like thinking about that possibility.

There was a crunching noise from behind him, but Hank didn't bother to turn around. He knew what it was: the Barbarian was "opening" doors again.

And that was something else he didn't want to think about; what the Seer was going to say when she returned to her Fortress to find that most of it had been smashed into small pieces.

It had been shut up and locked tight when they arrived. But that didn't stop them, not this time. Bobby, for once begin cooperative, smashed a gaping hole in the gate and in they had gone.

'Hank!' that was Bobby calling at the top of his voice, but the Ranger had no inclination to move quite yet. He was so angry that he wanted time alone to cool off.

'Hank!' cried Bobby again, but this time something in the tone of the Barbarian's call made Hank turn around. Something had happened.

As he looked at the tall, dark tower of the Fortress, panic suddenly gripped Hank's chest and he started to run.

As he approached the doorway, he could hear crying. The panic grew stronger, smothering his fears. Why would anyone be crying? Who? He burst through the door of the tower and headed for the stairs, following the sound. Up, and round the spiral stairs he ran, forcing himself faster.

The crying grew louder.

At last he burst through a broken door to a small room.

Presto knelt on the floor. He was crying; great, heart-wrenching sobs that seemed to come from his very soul. Bobby stood there next to the Magician, looking down at the objects in front of them with a blank, emotionless expression that Hank liked even less that the crying.

As Hank looked down to what they were looking at, a terrible overwhelming feeling of guilt making it difficult to breathe: The torn red cape, the muddy blue chain mail, and the yellow breastplate, dirty and dented, were sitting there on the floor.

He stared at them in shock.

There was only one implication.

Eric had been here. He must have been here when they had visited. He was here all along. They'd been tricked by the Seer, and they'd fallen for it totally. The black hole where Hank's heart used to be grew deeper.

They'd missed him. They were too late.

* * *

_Orcs_! 

God, how he hated Orcs! The whole place stank of Orc!

One of them struck him again, and the three of them laughed. Somehow these seemed bigger, and nastier and more vile than he remembered. And that Captain seemed to have an axe to grind.

It had watched him as he'd been brought down to a cell, almost leering at him. It had taken great pleasure in striking him whenever it had got the opportunity, and it was clearly enjoying tormenting him.

He had spent a short while in a cell, maybe a couple of days, before the Captain and his trusted henchmen had pulled him out. They had a nervous, furtive look about them, and Eric had the idea that whatever they were doing, they were not supposed to be doing it.

He didn't know if that made him feel better or worse.

The three Orcs dragged him into the guard-room of the dungeons and dumped him on the floor.

The Captain stood by the door, sneering at Eric.

For once, Eric didn't sneer back. He hurt, he was cold and hungry, he was scared; all things that would have normally made him very condescending back. But though he was many things, he wasn't stupid. He knew better than to aggravate an already angry Orc; especially one that had taken a personal dislike to him.

It stepped forward, grabbing him by his neck with a cruching grip.

'You lot!' it hissed. 'You fuckin' children! I fuckin' hate ya!'

Eric couldn't ask why, as he could barely draw enough breath to breath.

'Runnin' all over the fuckin' Realm chasin' ya! And ya always managed to get away, didn't ya!' It smiled, revealing its tusks. 'But not this time.'

Eric stared at it in fear, willing himself to stop shaking.

'Strip 'im!' bellowed the Captain with a crude laugh. Eric's heart virtually stopped as the implication hit him.

_Oh shit._

'But Master won't be…' said another one.

'He's not goin' t'know! Not if we're quick! Strip 'im!'

_Oh shit.oh shit oh shit oh shit shit shitshit. Shit._

There was a moment of stillness.

He knew they couldn't kill him, Venger would have them vaporised in an instantly.

But that was his only advantage. The door was shut, and it was three again one and he had virtually no way out.

Eric moved first.

He fought with every ounce of strength he had left, he kicked and clawed and bit anything that came within striking distance. The Orcs had not been prepared for such ferocity, and it was clear that though they knew what they wanted, they had to be careful. They could have killed him any number of times over, but they didn't dare.

He was tiring quickly, much too quickly for his liking, but he still fought on.

Then something heavy crashed across the back of his knees and Eric buckled to the floor. He knew that it was over.

One of the guards pinned him to the ground, forcing the air out of his chest.

'Keep 'im from stugglin'!' growled the Captain.

'Ya sure?'

'Do it!'

Eric tried to move once more, but there was a sudden swish from behind his head, and everything went blissfully black.

* * *


	18. Chapter 17 Enduring Vision

Chapter 17

Enduring Vision

Dungeonmaster dreams.

Though his body is frozen in time his mind still wanders, as impotent as a spectre, through scenes of the past and present, with tantalising glimpses of the broken futures. The world of the Realm is spread out before him. He sees it all and can do nothing but watch.

Now the Realm is tilting out of balance as Venger's power and influence grows. Dungeonmaster can see no way out.

He sees his prize Pupils scattered and dispirited; though this is the new way of the Realm and even his own messenger fares no better. All seems lost in too many futures.

The _Ranger_ pines for his lost love, and faces ultimate failure as his friends slowly disappear.

The _Barbarian_, though young, knows he is alone, and knows he has few friends left to help him.

The _Magician_ struggles against the Darkness inside him, the fight consuming all his strength, destined to break under the strain.

The _Thief_ runs; called onwards by her own conscience to danger and regret and lost hope.

The _Cavalier_ stands alone, deep in Venger's Shadow, unable to see a way out now the Seer is dead.

And the _Acroba_t… Diana, the Child of Light… now it's dark for Diana. Dungeonmaster can't see her at all. She's gone.

In the blink of an eye it will all change and for a moment the future fills his vision. Now he can see betrayal. He can feel fear. He can see the colossal emptiness of a broken soul left behind.

The picture pulls into sharp focus.

The Ranger watches with the stone-faced Barbarian as the Magician cries relentlessly over the discarded clothes of the Cavalier.

The Thief runs towards an injured boy, though legions of Orcs stand in her way, the plaintive bleating of the unicorn in her ears.

The Cavalier hovers at the brink of consciousness, a fate worse than death awaiting him at the hands of Venger's Orcs.

And the Arch-Mage himself moves forward to a future that even he can neither anticipate nor comprehend.

Dungeonmaster can only wait, to see how the present unfolds.

But as he watches them all struggle, he senses something more. Figments of his imagination, maybe, but there is another face, an older face that hovers over the Realm. A face that Dungeonmaster had all but forgotten. A face he'd hoped never to see again.

* * *


	19. Chapter 18 Unpleasant Surprises

Chapter 18

Unpleasant Surprises

Sheila the Thief had had the advantage of surprise, and that was the only explanation for getting away so easily.

She appeared in their midst out of nowhere, and the Orcs were confused, perhaps thinking that they were under attack, and their sense of self-preservation seemed to be more important than anything else, more important than beating their prisoner.

Fortunately, the boy had been quick on the uptake, much faster than the Orcs themselves, and had been able to run. If he had been seriously injured, then they might have had a problem.

But as the Orc Captain sounded the call to arms for his men, the confusion had covered their escape. She had grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him through the crowd of bodies, just concentrating on keeping moving and staying out of the way of the dirty, grabbing fists of the Orcs.

And they had run.

They were still running, with hand locked in hand. Her feet pounded on the dust raising a cloud after them, and her breaths came in heaving, staccato gasps. But she didn't dare stop.

Clamouring came from behind them, and she knew that the Orcs would not be fooled for more than a few minutes at most. They had to make the best of that period of grace to get as far away as they could. She kept thinking she would use the Cloak and disappear, but only she could use it, and that would have been no help to the boy she'd saved, he would still be chased. And maybe she could save it, and use it only at the very end, if there was no other choice.

She had no idea where she would go next. Because of the layout of the Orc camp, she had had to run away from the direction she had come, and away from Bobby and Hank as well.

They kept no moving, but the sound of pursuit seemed to be getting closer.

Her throat was more dry and painful than it had ever been before, and with each step she was sure she would sink down to her knees and fall fainting into the dust.

She moved to turn right, but the boy pulled her back.

'This way,' he gasped. 'Camp.'

He tugged hard on her arm, and she went from being the leader to the led. Following as best she could, they started to climb. The hillside was not steep, but after a sprint, it was hard to struggle up. The path was covered in loose stone that made her slip and slide. The constant motion, and the exertion had made her head start to spin, the blood thumping through her skull like rampaging horde.

But she kept on climbing, up towards the nearby plateau, which had large rocks and boulders strewn over it.

Then she heard a cry, similar to the cry she had heard before, but this time it wasn't of pain but of joy. As she ran, the noise seemed to be growing louder.

Sheila stumbled on, hope rising in her heart that the Unicorn was close by. And if she was, then maybe she could help them get away from the pursuing Orcs.

They seemed to turn, heading at an angle away from the straight path, and Sheila would have questioned her companion, but she didn't have enough breath to speak. He was holding her hand firmly, pulling her on, and seemed to know what he was doing.

Ahead, there was a shout of alarm, not from an Orc, but from a human. The cry was taken up by others and Sheila saw the glint of metal not far in front of them. She gasped. There was a line of men there, all armed all with similar looks of anger on their faces.

The Thief pulled back slightly, afraid once again.

But behind her came the low rumble of the pursuing Orcs and Sheila realised she had no choice. She had no desire to be captured by those vile creatures.

The boy pulled her on, through the line of men, and they let them pass with barely a second look.

The boy slowed once they were though the line.

'Still not safe,' he gasped, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. 'Camp.'

He pointed. Somehow they had reached the far side of the rise, and down below was a small encampment, perhaps of thirty men strong.

There were so many questions, and she didn't understand what these people were doing here, or why they were armed like this, or so close to the Orc camp to begin with. But all the questions were pushed aside as she heard the sounds of the impeding battle behind her.

Whoever these people were, they were her best chance of getting some shelter and some food, and maybe even some help getting back to her friends.

As Sheila and the boy approached the camp there were angry cries, and the Thief looked around, feeling intensely alone.

There were men, and tents, weapons and horses, and all the urgent activity of an encampment under threat. She shivered, seeing the swords and knives and shields, with the noise of war and the bitter smell of molten metal.

Running off on her own had seemed like the most sensible idea at the time, but that felt like a long time ago. The previous few weeks had taught her that there was trouble everywhere in the Realm, and she had seemingly walked blithely into danger at every turn.

But though the men stared at her and her companion, no one approached them at first. The boy led her onwards, hardly giving her the chance to catch her breath, though they were no longer running.

The boy came to a stop near the centre.

'Go in there,' he told her, pointing to an ornate tent. 'I have to see the Captain.'

He let go of her hand and turned away, suddenly leaving Sheila feeling totally alone, her hand cold after the warmth of contact.

All around people moved, and there was the sound of voices and the clash of weapons.

Of course, she could have just pulled up her Cloak and vanished, but she didn't though she still felt vulnerable and afraid. Whoever these men were, they paid almost no attention to her.

She looked again at the tent in front of her. It was larger than the others, and more richly decorated. Perhaps the owner was a leader of some sort. That would be the most logical conclusion.

Around her, a there was a growing murmur, and she glance back towards the path they had come along, back towards the Orcs.

There was nothing there. Not just yet.

But she couldn't just stand around here in the open, she had to go in and find out where she was. She had to somehow find a way back to the others.

* * *

Hank walked in silence beside Presto and Bobby.

They had looked to him for leadership, and he had given the instructions and the orders and they had obeyed, just as they always obeyed.

But in truth he had no idea what he was doing, or what they were going to do next.

The sudden disappearance of Sheila was bad enough, but now they had missed Eric as well.

That seemed to be the final straw for Presto. He had cried almost non-stop for a whole day, the inconsolable despair beyond a rational explanation. Seeing him like that had made Hank even more afraid.

By the end of the day, Presto had fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted and Hank patiently stayed by his side all night. He'd watched as his friend had tossed and turned in his sleep, crying out in pain and fear. He'd watched as Presto grew quiet at times, seemingly cowed into silence by some unseen force.

By the time he had woken in the cold dawn, Hank was certain that there was something very, very wrong with his friend.

It was easy to see blame elsewhere, but Hank knew that he bore the brunt of responsibility. He had been distracted by his relationship with Sheila, and it had been easier to look the other way. He knew he should have forced the issue sooner, he knew he should have asked the difficult questions and found out what had happened to Presto while they were apart.

Hank knew he would have to find out now. There was no option left. Presto was being torn apart. He desperately needed help, and there was only Hank and Bobby left to give that help.

So he would have to force Presto to tell him what had happened, but he didn't want to. The very idea that Presto was keeping something important from him made him feel sick.

But it had to be done. Though he had spent the main part of the day arguing with himself about it, Hank knew he couldn't afford to let Presto break completely.

The new resolve made Hank feel slightly better.

They would travel down the valley, back towards the village. And, that night, he would find out.

* * *

The Mirrors had been set side-by-side in the great Hall and their intoxicating presence soothed away the last few vestiges of anxiety.

Everything was perfect. Everything was in place. No one would be able to stop him now. What was more, the Orc army that was gathering to the North would be a serious obstacle to any attempt to gain access.

And even if somehow the Ranger were able to get to the Castle, it would be too late to save his friend. The Drow would make sure of it.

Venger smiled, drinking in the pure sensations of power coming from his new acquisitions. Together the Mirrors were more than twice as powerful as a single one had been. They had been kept apart for so long, it seemed that they had missed each other. The room sang with their presence and Venger bathed in that feeling and let it permeate through him, soak into his skin and his chest, his arms and legs all the way down to the curved nails at his fingertips. This was power. This was _his_ power! This was his _right_!

Finally, he stepped up to the Mirrors, looking at them, his head tilted arrogantly up.

At first there was nothing, not even the sound of their song.

Then abruptly, with a roar of magic, he was assaulted by images, past, present and future coalescing around him in a thick web. The intensity increased, the images forcing their way into his mind as nothing else ever had, and he seemed powerless to resist.

And then, the images were gone.

It had only taken a moment, but somehow he had fallen to his knees before these objects, proud head suddenly bowed. He rose, emptiness now replacing the feeling of power he had experienced just a moment ago.

He took a few steps back, and looked at the Mirrors from a distance and they stared back at him like two giant black eyes, as deep and unfathomable as his Master's.

As his strength returned, so did his anger.

No mere object was going to deny him power!

It was clear that the magic in them was wild and dangerous, but he was capable of overcoming that. He was capable of overcoming anything that stood in his path.

Standing there, looking at the two Mirrors, Venger knew it was finally time. He wasn't going to wait any longer, for the proper time, or the proper conjunctions. He was going to act right now. There was no _reason_ to wait. There was no reason at all for him to delay his plans. Once he had absorbed the power of his prisoner, the Mirrors would tremble beneath his hand and the remaining Young Ones would break.

'Shadow Demon!' he bellowed, his voice echoing round the hall.

Within a moment, the Demon had appeared at his side.

'Where is my _guest_?'

There was a despicable hesitancy about the creatures answer.

'The dungeon, Master.'

Venger turned to glare at his slave and Shadow Demon cowered down. The dungeon, of course. No doubt, the Orcs would be keeping him suitably occupied! But that thought brought no comfort this time. That boy was his prize, he had to desire to see it damaged by any hand other than his own!

'Come, Shadow demon!' he said sweeping grandly away from the Mirrors.

* * *


	20. Chapter 19 Ruling Hand

Chapter 19

Ruling Hand

Venger sensed something was wrong the moment he set foot in the dungeons.

It was almost silent, and there was an impression of fear in the air. As it should be, no doubt, but there was a raw edge to the fear, as powerful as hatred itself.

He swept onwards, heading towards his prize, the Young One that he had captured, with a thin smile on his lips. He had it _all_ within his grasp; his ultimate revenge upon his father and the other children was so close. Nothing would stand in his way.

He opened the door of the last room of the dungeons, expecting to see the boy waiting in over-awed dread. But instead he saw the Orc Captain poised to take his prize and taint it.

Fury, the like of which he had never before experienced, rose inside him at the scene. Then the leering Orcs turned in terror to their Master. Even the boy, naked on the floor, looked around at the Arch-Mage, his expression dulled with frightened confusion. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead down the side of his temple and his cheek, to drip quietly on the floor like the tick of a water-clock.

Venger watched the drops of red liquid fall and spatter on the ground for a few moments, the scene frozen as he stood there: The three Orcs cowering, the boy, and the _blood_.

How dare they touch his prize! How dare they even think to touch something he had schemed so long to get hold of, something so important to his plans? How dare they? _How dare they_!

'M-M-Master…?'

It was the last understandable word the Orc Captain ever said.

Venger flicked his right hand out, dazzling red flame exploding from his fingers and there was an unremitting scream of agony. Venger basked in the sound for a moment.

Then the last vestiges of the cry echoed away, and Venger looked at the two remaining Orcs, standing like terrified ice-statues in their craven positions of submission. Close by, there was barely a wisp of smoke to show where the Captain had been only a few moments before.

The Cavalier was cowering on the ground, his hands covering his ears, and he seemed to be barely able to understand what had just happened. For a few moments longer, everything was still. Then Venger looked down on his prize, seeing the thick red line snaking over his face.

Venger growled, his fury still unsatisfied, and the Arch-Mage reached down and grabbed the boy by the arm, pulling him roughly upright. With the warm flesh crushed and bruised beneath his hand, he could feel the boy's delicious fear flowing out of every pore; weakened, disorientated and alone.

This was the perfect moment to perform the Ritual for Change. The boy would be unable to refuse _anything_. His spirit, even his very soul, would be consumed by Venger's pervasive will.

It was time.

* * *

Sheila pushed back the curtain of the tent, not sure what or who she expected to find.

Inside, the tent was plainly decorated with few pieces of furniture; there was a makeshift table, a chair, and another curtain at the back, presumably hiding somewhere to sleep.

Leaning against the table, at the very centre, in pride of place, was a copper coloured longsword with a bulbous handle. Sheila looked at it, taking another step forward into the tent to see it more clearly.

There seemed to be no one else around, but the sounds from outside filled the tent, making her still feel vulnerable. She waited for a minute, but there was no one, so she moved forward towards the wooden table, still looking at the sword.

It was taller than she'd thought it was from the door, perhaps just more than half her own height. The coppery tinge was marked in the low light of the tent, and the pommel was set with a large yellow gemstone the size of her fist.

Awed as she was, Sheila resisted the urge to touch it. It seemed a powerful weapon and whoever had left it there would not be pleased if she treated it as a toy.

With such a valuable object in the tent, she was surprised that there was no one there on guard.

She crept quietly forward, looking around, seeing more detail in the lovingly fashioned curtains, and the lattice-backed chair.

Then she realised there was a noise like breathing coming from near the back. Her hand went to her Cloak, but she didn't pull the hood up. Instead she followed the noise, moving round the table, away from the sword and closer to the back. She peeped round the partition curtain with the sudden understanding that whoever lived in this tent was asleep behind it.

Sure enough, there was a man there, resting fully dressed on top of a small bed as if taking a short doze.

And sleeping on the floor near his feet was Uni!

'Uni!' Sheila squeaked in joy.

At the sound, the man twitched in his sleep, but the unicorn came awake instantly. She looked up at Sheila but didn't stand. Sheila rushed forward, keen to pet the unicorn.

'At last I've found you!' said Sheila. 'Oh, Uni!'

'Meah,' came the weak reply. She petted the creature, the joy in her heart tempered. The Unicorn was horribly thin and gangly. There was a large, bald patch down one of her sides that looked suspiciously like the mark of a foot. Uni lifted up her head, tipping it slightly to one side, to stare at Sheila with dulled pink eyes.

As Sheila petted her, the unicorn twitched and reared back, sniffing the air then recoiling in a way Sheila had never seen.

'Uni? What's wrong?'

Uni stayed back at first, but slowly, she drew closer, as if realising that this really was Sheila. Finally, Uni allowed the Thief close enough to slip her arm round Uni's neck. She could feel how thin and bony the animal was, and looked again, seeing her ribs clearly down her flanks.

'Oh, Uni what happened to you?' she asked, holding Uni's face in her hands.

'We do not know,' said a familiar voice.

Sheila looked round. The man had awoken and had propped himself up on his elbows. He was looking at her with a warm familiar smile on his face and for the second time in as many minutes Sheila's heart leapt.

'Lawrence?'

The King's smile grew, and he nodded.

'Sheila.'

A moment later, she was in his arms holding the man tightly as if afraid she was just imagining him. Of all the people she expected to meet again in the Realm, King Lawrence of Zinn wasn't one of them.

He looked different, his beard was gone, his hair cut short. He seemed thinner too, and was wearing only a light tunic and pants, not the full kingly regalia that she always associated him with.

'What are you doing here?' she asked at last, pulling back so she could look at his face again. 'What about the army? The Orcs? What's happening?'

'There will be time for questions and answers,' he said. 'But for now, you must come with us. I cannot allow you to venture back in to the territory of the enemy. We must return to the main column of the Army, and we must report back to the King.'

'Army?' asked Sheila. 'King? But you're still the King of Zinn, aren't you?'

Lawrence nodded.

'I rule the lands of Zinn, but no further. And I do not doubt much has happened to you and your friends, but there is much happening in the Realm as well. There will be war.'

'War?' Sheila frowned, and shook her head. 'But how? Why?'

'There will be time for questions later, Sheila.' He took a firm grip on her shoulder, looking down to meet her eyes with a sad expression. 'And for your own safety, while you are here, you _must_ do as I command.'

Sheila was too surprised at his stern tone to argue. She nodded.

'Very well,' Lawrence said, his hands dropping to his side. There was a plaintive bleat from Uni. Immediately, Sheila knelt down once more, petting the Unicorn gently.

'But Uni?' she asked. 'What about her? How did you find her? What's happened to her?'

'Her discovery was no more than chance,' Lawrence said, leaning down to pet the weary looking animal on the head. 'She was found by one of our scouts, and he brought her back to me. I have kept her safe.'

'Thank you,' said Sheila, her voice shaking with emotion. 'Bobby will be so pleased to know she's alive.'

Lawrence looked at her, but didn't ask any questions.

There was the sound of hurrying feet outside and the tent door swished opened. The boy Sheila had helped was there, along with another, taller man who was carrying a sword and shield and dressed in the manner of a Zinn Guard.

'Captain Muro!' said Lawrence standing. 'What news?'

'My King, the Orcs are close, much, much closer than we thought. Lorne was at their camp and…' Sheila didn't hear the rest, as she was suddenly staring at the boy. Lorne? Was that the same _Lorne_? The hair was shorter, the face seemed more narrow as well. Was that really the same person?

Then he smiled at her, a smile that gave her a sudden and painful reminder of Eric's disappearance, and she realised he was the same boy.

'My lady?' said Lawrence. 'Do you not agree?'

Sheila realised he'd asked he a question and she had no idea what it was.

'I know this is not what you were expecting,' said Lawrence, 'but we must ride out. Do you understand?'

From his expression, Sheila could tell that this question was only a formality and she suddenly wished she had been paying more attention rather than gawping. She nodded.

'Very well, Captain,' said Lawrence. 'Sound the retreat.'

'Yes, my King.' With a swish of the tent curtain, the Captain was gone.

Lawrence moved to pick up the Unicorn, cradling her in his arms, then he passed her to Sheila. Uni bleated quietly, and Sheila was shocked at how light and frail she seemed. Then Lawrence took the Thief by the arm, guiding her firmly to the door where Lorne still waited in silence.

'Lorne, I expect you to take care of her. If all else falls, you must be sure to escort her to the army, to the King himself. Do you hear? And no going off on your own?'

Lorne bowed.

'Yes, my King,' he said.

Hearing his voice, any doubts that this was the same boy they had befriended a few months ago vanished. Sheila turned back to Lawrence to say goodbye, seeing him reach out and pick up that beautiful sword, a sad, despairing look on her face. The words seemed to catch in the front of her mouth, and she couldn't say anything at all.

'Come on, Sheila,' said Lorne, tugging her sleeve.

She let herself be guided out, still hugging Uni close to her chest, and constantly looking back to Lawrence's tent.

But around her, the camp was in turmoil, with men moving constantly, and the smell of mud and iron and sweat. Close by, there were the familiar shouts and cries of the Orcs.

Lorne kept pulling Sheila onwards, way from the main part of the camp.

'Where are we going?' she asked at last. 'Lorne?'

He faced her, his face more stern than she could ever have imagined it being.

'We must do as the King says. We must leave now, before it's too late.'

Sheila gulped. _Too late for what_?

* * *

Hank let them stop just a few miles out from the village, in the shade of a great tree. Bobby and Presto rested while he gathered a few nuts and berries for their meager dinner.

Almost as soon as they had stopped, Presto closed his eyes, his face the colour of wet stone. They didn't set a fire, though the evening was cold, and Hank waited until Bobby had eaten and had fallen into a troubled sleep before forcing Presto awake.

Presto twisted and turned in Hank's grip, struggling to get away. Then abruptly, his eyes opened wide, and he jerked back, gasping for breath.

'H-H-Hank…?'

'Take it easy, Presto.'

'Hank. It's you.'

The Ranger nodded slowly, watching the fluctuating expressions on Presto's face. Now it actually came to the moment, talking to the other boy was the last thing he wanted to do. Then Presto shuddered, as if about to be sick, and Hank moved forward to support him. A moment later, the tenseness passed, and Presto leaned against Hank's shoulder. The Ranger half expected him to start to cry once more, but instead Presto remained quiet.

During the walk, Hank had thought about how to approach this moment many times, toying with many different opening gambits to broach the subject gently. None of them seemed appropriate anymore.

'What happened?' Hank asked. 'All those days we were apart. You've got to tell me what happened to you.'

Presto lifted his head from Hank's shoulder, but didn't look at him.

'I want to tell you,' Presto murmured, looking to the ground. 'You've got to believe me. But I can't.'

'Can't? Or won't?'

Presto shook his head, shuddering as he did so.

Then, for the first time that evening, the Magician looked at Hank directly, keeping eye contact in a way that was highly out of character, and that made Hank feel uncomfortable. It was almost as if Presto was trying to look inside him.

Staring back, Hank forced himself not to move. He was not going to look away first. He was not going to back down.

The silence grew between the two boys, and though Hank was struggling to keep his resolve, he could see Presto shaking, small beads of sweat on his forehead and top lip.

Was there some kind of battle raging inside Presto that he couldn't understand? Why was Presto struggling so much with the question?

'Please don't ask me,' said Presto. 'Please.'

'Presto, there's only three of us left,' said Hank. It was a low, mean trick to pull in such a situation, but he desperately needed answers. 'Diana's gone. Sheila's vanished. And there's _Eric_.'

He put special emphasis on that last word, watching Presto for a reaction. But the Magician just looked blankly at him, his eyes gazed.

'You don't understand,' Presto said.

'Then help me understand. Tell me. Let me help you.'

A full shudder passed through the Magician.

'I can't.' His voice was no more than a tiny whisper. '_He_ won't let me.'

* * *


	21. Chapter 20 Inescapable Victory

Chapter 20

Inescapable Victory

The world swam back into view, though Eric wished it hadn't. There was not enough energy or emotion left in him to deal with what was happening; whether that was down to the magic, or just plain old fear, he didn't know.

He was upright, slumped forward slightly, his arms pulled up by the cuffs on his wrists, and he couldn't feel his feet or legs any more. Slick waves of nausea flooded through him, and he struggled to contain the feeling. The air was cool about him and he shivered, realising that he was still naked; but after everything that had happened, after he had nearly lost _so_ much at the hands of those disgusting Orcs, that fact didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have.

There were only fragments of memory at what had happened in the dungeon. The were the laughter of the Orcs, and the pain in the side of his head, the taste of blood and his mouth, then more laughter.

And then he had seen Venger; it had been Venger, there was no doubt, the face, the clothes, the horn, the wings. But it was Venger as he had never seen him before. The fire of his anger, the raw power and hatred that had come from him was as terrifying as it was overwhelming. Eric shuddered at the memory, though it was not as traumatic as he had expected it to be.

In fact, Eric didn't feel like himself at all; inside he was broken and empty, as if a piece of himself was missing. He hadn't ever felt like this before.

Lifting his head slowly so as not to make himself ill, Eric looked up to see where he had been left this time.

He was in the Great Hall of the Castle, he recognised the room at first glance; he didn't need to see Venger himself sitting there on his throne to figure that out.

At the far end, behind Venger, he could see two Mirrors, both of them standing like monolithic tombstones. As he watched, he felt Evil flowing out of them, weighing down on everything close by. Pressure was building up in this Castle, it felt like it was going to explode with power and leaving nothing, except maybe Venger, standing in its wake. It was the very last place in the Realm any sane person would want to be. And he couldn't get away.

The Seer's Mirror was there, but Eric had not expected to see another one. Both of those objects, standing together filled Eric with more fear than he thought he was capable of feeling. It took almost all his willpower to look away.

In front of him, on a table near the Arch-Mage there was a golden goblet, in pride of place on a raised plate, four candles made of red wax burning behind. Around it were various odd-looking items; he knew enough about magic to recognise ingredients for a spell.

All the time, Venger had been watching every movement he'd made. It made Eric's skin crawl, it was as if Venger was gloating over him. He hadn't moved and Eric grew tired of waiting for something to happen. Somewhere between bravado and stupidity, he tensed his arms and pulled on the restraints. Nothing happened, not even Venger's expression changed.

How long had he been hanging like this? How long had Venger sat leering at him?

A thrill of cold, hard anger passed through Eric. That was all that seemed to happen to him these days, he was just a slave, a piece of meat to be traded and passed around, his worth only measure in what his presence could bring other people.

A slow-burning anger grew inside him. It was a hateful feeling, and his powerlessness at the moment only heightened the emotion. He wasn't the helpless pawn that could be pushed around at the whim of others.

A shudder passed through him. Somehow he was going to get some sort of payback eventually for all of this. He closed his eyes and _promised_ himself.

Somehow, if it was the last goddamn thing he did, someone was gonna pay!

-x-

Venger watched the young man stir like a newly born dragon; slow and confused, the Cavalier looked around in awe at his surroundings, and had looked at Venger with fear.

Venger smiled inwardly.

The wait had been worth it. Within this Castle, even within these four walls, the power of true Darkness is growing strong on the young man's terror. Soon it would be enough to power the Ritual. Soon his plans would be complete.

Only a few more minutes, his wait would be over.

Behind him, Mirrors throbbed with life. Now they were together, they almost seemed eager to witness the coming change. And in front of him, the Goblet sat on the altar, its power growing also. The entire room seemed to shake in awe at the magic held within, and not least his own.

Venger sat, accustomed to waiting. He had waited ten centuries for this triumphant moment; he was not going to ruin it with needless haste. He was content to pass the last few moments thinking about his enemies, and the effect that his actions would have upon them. He had no doubt they would be broken, in spirit if not in body.

Soon, the Ranger would discover the army. Then the Thief would come to spy upon them. And soon after that, the Ranger would be forced to act if he wanted to survive, even though to act would be to destroy his own. And at last, the Magician would be forced into action as well, Venger would be sure to use his pawn to the maximum effect before he was broken.

Then, weak and dispirited, he would cast them off to the very place they would have no wish to go, and the Ranger would suffer for the rest of his life, carrying the responsibility on his shoulders until it became too much to bear.

Part of Venger wished to witness the final, decisive and destructive act the Ranger would perform. But knowing from the Mirrors that it was bound to happen was comfort enough.

A few moments later, the Drow entered, led by their Priestess, and as she walked past, she gave the Cavalier a contemptuous glare.

As Venger rose from is seat, and the Drow all bowed low before him, on their knees.

'Rise and take your place,' he commanded. The power of his voice shook the walls and he saw the Cavalier flinch as if in pain.

The Drow obeyed.

Venger had resisted the temptation to embellish the Ritual with excessive pain, to ensure that the Cavalier suffered as he deserved for once being a pupil of a different master. But Venger was not an Orc, unable to control himself if the need arose and, as much as the Arch-Mage wished to cause pain, this was different. This was a transformation, into something much, much more.

No coercion, and no force would be necessary. The Cavalier would simply be unable to refuse; such was the power present before him.

The Drow began to chant, magic filling their words with dark power. The young man swayed as if in his sleep as the words grew in strength. Even Venger himself could feel the authority and the power the magic wielded.

After a long, long time, the chanting grew softer, and a smile grew on the Cavalier's tired face as he was sucked deeper into the magic.

Venger watched, enjoying the sight of the corruption of a soul as it played out in front of him. His ecstasy was almost unbounded. It was finally going to happen. One of Dungeonmaster's pupils was going to become his! If it hade been the Ranger, how might not have been able to restrain himself from draining the purity from him with his own hand. But he would not deign to stoop so low for the _Cavalier_.

The chanting stopped.

The Drow Priestess approached the young man and carefully released him from the bonds that held him upright. Close by, two Drow stood, flanking him, and making sure he did not fall.

It was doubtful if the Cavalier even noticed the knife, or the cut it left on his chest; the weapon was extremely sharp, and cut was small and shallow and directly above his heart. Rich red blood pumped out.

The faithful Drow collected the blood as it flowed in a dark bowl, then placed it on the table beside the Goblet. The young man hadn't moved.

The Priestess then approached Venger himself, the knife still gleaming red, the Cavalier's blood still fresh. Slowly, Venger bared his chest, and the Priestess drew the knife across his skin, over an older scar that had long since healed.

The pain was almost nothing, but a sense of pride and victory filled Venger that made him feel light-headed. There was nothing now that could stop him.

He stood there and the Priestess collected the blood that flowed from his wound, the same as she had with the Cavalier only a few minutes before, taking care not to spill a single, precious drop.

Eventually, she stepped back, and placed the bowl beside its twin, next to the Goblet.

Drained though he was, he now needed to concentrate and summon all of his Dark Powers. The source of their lives, their very essence was in front of him within their containers.

All but one of the candles were snuffed out by the Drow as they departed, and in the darkness Venger worked calling upon every last wisp of his power to complete the spell.

There was no measure of time as he worked. Nothing else moved. He seemed in Limbo, cut off from the rest of the Realm as he poured all his vast power into the magic. At the very end, he poured the contents of each bowl into the Goblet, that accepted the blood with a greedy hiss.

Venger closed his eyes, dredging up his final reserves of energy. He had not believed such a thing could be so exhausting, even for one such as himself. But he summoned the red fire once again, and let it play along his fingertips and down round the edge of the Goblet.

Staring at the Goblet, he spoke the first words in what seemed like an age, words he had heard a thousand times in his head since he had first heard them spoken, those many, many years ago.

'Within this cup, I have the essence of life and death. And what is done cannot be undone, by any power in this, or any other, Realm, known or unknown. So it was for myself, so it was for my Father before me, so it shall be for those to come after.'

The liquid in front of him seemed to hiss and spit at the words. There we no longer any reflections on the surface and it seemed to absorb all the light in the room.

It was ready.

His hand shaking, the Arch-Mage carefully lifted the Goblet from its resting place on the altar.

Dipping his fingers in, he then smeared some of the elixir over the cut in his chest. It took all his self-discipline not to cry out in pain as the Magic infected his body, creeping through his veins like a fiery poison. The shake of his hand grew more pronounced and he feared that the Goblet might fall. It did not, and slowly the pain subsided to a dulling ache.

Then he put the cup to his lips and drank.

It tasted bitter at first, almost to unpleasant to swallow, but the taste of magic drove him to take more. The power grew within him, a wonderful, delicious power that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Venger forced himself to stop. He could have taken the entire Goblet and still desired more! _How? Why…?_

Then he understood the answer: It came from the Cavalier. Somehow, the magic from his short masquerade as the Dungeonmaster was still alive within him!

This was something Venger had not foreseen, and it was almost too perfect; the Ranger, for all his purity and goodness, would never have been able to provide such powerful magic.

Venger looked at the Cavalier with genuine appreciation for the first time, realising what a powerful warrior for Evil he had created.

The Cavalier stood swaying, his head tipped forward, the young man's eyes were closed, as if exhaustion had driven him to sleep. The small cut on his chest had stopped bleeding, and Venger covered his fingers once more in the magical liquid and smeared it over his chest, covering the cut. Roused by the touch, at first the Cavalier shuddered, then he fell to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain as the magic took over. As the agony and shock subsided, the young man was left curled up on the ground, gasping for breath.

When the screaming stopped, and Venger helped him to rise, the Cavalier took the proffered Goblet and drank the remains of the liquid as greedily as Venger had. The empty Goblet dropped to the floor with a crack as the young man swayed.

This was the moment. Venger took a step back, watching and waiting to see how he would react.

For a time, nothing happened, the young man stood still as a rock, his head tipped down, his eyes seemingly closed.

There was one final shudder, then the ex-Cavalier lifted his head. They looked at each other, and Venger could see the faintest glow of red within his creation's eyes, every last shred of his soul consumed by Venger's magic. They continued to stare at each other for long moments then, finally the Arch-Mage was rewarded with a smile.

The young man went down on one knee before his Master, his head bowed. A smile touched Venger's own lips at this spontaneous show of allegiance. He placed his hand on the young man's shoulder and said:

'Now you have returned to your rightful place at my side. You may rise, my son!'

-x-


	22. Chapter 21 Unforced Error

Chapter 21

Unforced Error

Presto had no nightmares, a strange kind of peace filled him. He slept the whole night and woke to the cold blue light of dawn feeling better than he had in weeks, and the nightmares of the past were only a memory.

He knew what had caused the change; talking to Hank was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he hadn't even told him anything important! The Creature was aware of what had happened but seemed unconcerned. He could feel it coiling around his insides, its thoughts and power spilling out into his mind and body.

But Presto wasn't going to give in that easily, they were no longer unequal partners.

The way Hank had spoken to him, and the desperate and _caring_ way Hank had looked at him, had done more for his resolve than any words ever could. They had lost Eric, they had lost Diana and Sheila and Uni. He was not going to lose Hank or Bobby, or be lost himself. He and Hank were going to see this through to the end together. Hank had given him hope when he'd thought everything was gone.

Though the morning was cold, Presto lay still with his eyes closed, savouring the sensation of rest and privacy and peace. Then the Creature shifted, as if trying to attract his attention. Rather than fighting the sensation, or ignoring it, he acknowledged its presence for the first time, suppressing his fear. And when he closed his eyes and his body felt light and all the aching pain gone.

He felt of the thunderous sounds of war reverberating though his body; he knew the massive Orc army was near. More than that, Orcs themselves were close by, prowling and sniffing and hunting through the trees and the scrubland, always looking, always searching, always moving, like the unstoppable force of the rising tide.

Presto's eyes flicked open, looking at the two sleeping forms of Hank and Bobby.

Orcs were very near. They might burst through the line of bushes at any moment. The Orcs felt so close Presto could almost smell them and every whisper of the breeze was like a cry of attack.

And though the Creature struggled, Presto forced himself to move.

They couldn't wait and rest any longer. They had to go! And they had to go r_ight now_!

* * *

Sheila travelled with Lorne, walking as fast as they could over the uneven ground, rarely stopping to rest, night or day. Uni was too frail to move on her own, and had to be carried. But she was wary, only occasionally consenting to let Lorne take her, and even then only for a short time.

With every day that passed, Sheila felt her strength seeping away into the earth, though she had been used to physical exercise in the Realm. Not all of the exhaustion could be explained by Uni's extra weight, or the intangible weight of the fear in her heart. But she didn't let Lorne know how much effort it took to keep putting one foot down in front of the other.

Mostly, they stayed silent, saving they energy for the journey. When they did talk, Sheila asked only a few questions and Lorne didn't give her much in the way of answers. He seemed different than she remembered. When they had last seen each other, Lorne had been happy and safe with a new family and looking forward to a new life. She didn't dare ask him what had happened.

For his part, Lorne never asked about the others and she didn't tell him. It was too painful to talk about, or try and put into words and she didn't want to think about any of it for too long. Diana, her best friend, had vanished with no explanation. Eric was gone too and the thought of what might have happened to him weighed heavily on her mind. She dreaded having to tell Lorne about his disappearance, so she continually avoided the topic as best she could.

After a day of travel through the valley, they came to the lower foothills of a sprawling mountain range. Travelling over rocky, undulating ground, going downhill was just as hard work as climbing uphill and Sheila grew increasingly weary. There was more cover to shield them from unwelcome eyes, but not even that simple fact appeared to please Lorne, who remained as uncommunicative as before.

'Orcs will track us,' he told her when she asked to rest. 'You don't want to get caught by Orcs these days, they're…' Lorne paused, a look of dread on his face, unable to get the right words out. 'They'll _hurt_ you,' he said at last.

An icy shiver raced up her spine.

'I don't understand,' said Sheila, unwillingly thinking back to the last time she had encountered Orcs, when she'd saved Lorne from their camp. She had tried not to dwell on that experience.

'They changed,' said Lorne, 'like they grew tried of their game and stopped pretending. It happened suddenly. One day, they just turned on everyone, killing and… worse.'

The last word was whispered and Sheila shuddered, repulsed as much by the words as the tone of his voice. She was going to ask him what had happened, and how he knew all of this, but decided against it. Now was not a good time to find out about this. Not at the moment.

In her arms, Uni looked up at Lorne and gave a very soft bray, her pink eyes wide and bright.

'Then let's keep going,' she said, with a small, comforting smile. For once, Lorne gave her a slight smile in return.

Lorne led them ever onwards and upwards and as they travelled, Sheila slowly became aware of a constant and growing noise, like far-away thunder. Uni was aware of it as well, her ears half-pricked as Sheila carried her.

Eventually, just before the last of the suns set, they reached a ridge and instead of more mountains, there was a steep cliff and a wide grassy valley below. A few miles from the base of the cliff there was a great gathering of men and beasts, Sheila could hardly guess at the true size of it, as the light was fading. But it was larger than the camp of the Orcs, she was certain of that. It was a great army of men and she could hear the steady rumbling noise from the encampment clearly.

Lorne looked happier than she had seen in days. But Sheila looked down at the army in amazement.

'What is this?' she asked at last.

'The Army of all Good Men,' replied Lorne, the pride and strength back in his voice. 'At last, we're safe.'

'It's huge,' she said. 'I've never seen anything like it.'

Lorne nodded.

'It has grown bigger since I left,' he said. 'Men gather to the banners, more every day.'

Sheila continued to look down at the Army, a frown on her face in spite of the lightness in her heart.

'But who could summon such a powerful Army?' she asked. 'Dungeonmaster?'

Lorne shook his head.

'No. The King!'

* * *

For the next few days all Hank, Bobby and Presto did was dodge Orcs. They found evidence of Orcs everywhere they went, they heard them and saw the devastation they caused. They rested only for short periods, whether during the day or the night, and always with someone on watch.

If it hadn't been for Presto, Hank was certain that they would have been captured several times over, and though he didn't understand how Presto knew where the Orcs were, he was grateful that Presto was feeling better and was able to help them.

Other than guidance, Presto said very little to Hank or Bobby, and kept his distance from them both. Hank struggled to find any way to start a conversation. It was as if Presto had already said too much and was sulking at him for asking difficult questions. And somehow, unbelievably, Bobby didn't pick up on the strain between them. The Barbarian kept trudging onwards, just like before.

Their progress back to the village was far too slow for Hank's liking. They had to double back on themselves, and cross water as often as they could, in an effort to throw the trailing Orcs off their scent. It took them days longer than it should have, but at last they returned to a place in the mountains that Hank recognised, and he knew they were close, less than a day away from some sort of shelter and some hot food.

He forced them to keep going and, though Presto was still easily tired, he struggled on.

As the afternoon grew cold and turned to twilight, they finally arrived back at the edge of the village, but even in the low light, Hank could see that something was very different about the place. Before, there had been many lights and the warm smell of wood smoke and cooking. But there was nothing like that now.

'Hank?' asked Bobby, sounding tired and anxious. 'What's going on?'

He looked to where the Inn was, and was relieved to see a light glowing in the windows and a line of blue-tinted smoke rising up into the air.

'Let's go and find out at the Inn,' Hank said.

One by one, the three of them moved forward in a straggly line.

'Something's happened,' murmured Presto, peering around. 'Maybe something terrible.'

'I'm not sure,' replied Hank. Most buildings they passed were boarded up, the doors and the windows shut and barred. There was much less activity in the village than before, and they saw almost no people on the streets. Even a small village in the hills had some sort of nightlife, even if it was just gathering at the Inn for a drink at the end of the day.

But much to Hank's relief, the Inn door was unlocked and they went inside.

Again, there was a change from last time they had been here. There was no smell of beer or cooking meats, only the rich aroma of wood from the fire. The Innkeeper looked up in surprise as they entered and he watched in silence as the moved towards him. Judging by the courteous nod he gave Hank, the Innkeeper at least recognised them.

'You want a room?' he asked, holding Hank's gaze.

Hank nodded, acutely aware of how bedraggled they must look. And though he wanted to ask questions, he didn't. They needed a roof over their heads more than answers at that moment.

There was a long silence as the Innkeeper looked around at the three boys. Then he gave a heavy sigh.

'I suppose you can stay until we leave,' the Innkeeper told them without a smile. 'Still got no gold?'

Again, Hank nodded. He hated having to rely on charity. The Innkeeper gave a huff, and scowled, making Hank feel even less welcome than before.

'Well, I suppose,' he replied. 'You can just help us pack the carts when they come.'

With that, he stomped off, leaving Hank, Presto and Bobby looking at each other in confusion.

* * *


End file.
